Afraid of losing his son to the infinite algorithm, a fed-up Utah father tries logging off for good. 

• Courtesy photo
• Chris Jones and his son, William, read a book together.

He wasn't himself anymore, and deep down, I felt the weight of that change was mine to carry. It's hard to admit this now, but I used to let him watch for hours. Literal hours. Every day.

I was in the middle of a brutal divorce, emotionally underwater, and—if I'm being honest—I wasn't the most present dad. I knew in my gut that the screen time was hurting my then 8-year-old son, William, but I didn't want to face the truth. I'd scroll past the thought in my mind, like scrolling past a TikTok dance I'd seen before.

But one night, as I lay next to him in his little bed, I couldn't ignore it anymore. I watched as his big blue eyes—once vibrant and alive—were dull and darting frantically back and forth across the sleek iPad screen, like his head was being shaken by an earthquake.

He had a half-grin plastered to his face as he tracked a tiny spaceship across the screen. The grin didn't bring me happiness—it was plastered, unmoving, like it had been painted on.

The game was "Geometry Dash." It was William's favorite.

But really, he loved everything on screens. Especially YouTube.

Whenever I managed to pry the screen from his hands, it was an excruciating battle. He would shout, flail, slam doors. And often, I'd cave and give it back.

But on the rare occasions when I stood firm—when we had a "screen break"—he'd just lay on the floor like a junkie in withdrawal. When I managed to pull him off the screen, he was anxious. Jittery. Eager for nothing more than his next screen session—just like Dr. Anna Lembke, Stanford psychiatrist and author of Dopamine Nation, describes in her writing. She likens smartphones to "modern-day hypodermic needles."

Even a few minutes on a screen would leave him irritable and overstimulated. Any attempt to touch or hug him triggered a meltdown—his entire body tense and reactive, like a tiny human porcupine bristling with invisible quills.

During those breaks, he wouldn't play; wouldn't talk; wouldn't read. He just waited, eyes glazed, until he could get his next fix.

I loved him deeply—but at the time, all he could talk about were things he'd seen on screens. Random, incoherent stuff like, "Mr. Incredible became uncanny." He would randomly say things like "Skibidi Toilet," or talk endlessly about some YouTube video.

When he was off the screen, his behavior was not good. He was uncontrollable, incorrigible.

I was terrified. What, I thought, had I created?

A Widespread Crisis
My story isn't unique—it's one I've heard repeated by all my friends who are parents. All—not some. They talk about their kids going to war over screen time, the erosion of attention spans and the slow unraveling of friendships.

• Courtesy photo
• Counselor Corinne Johnson says she’s seen a “big uptick” in childhood anxiety.

Corinne Johnson, a counselor with Desert Morning Counseling who also works closely with the Granite School District, has witnessed firsthand the shift in student behavior before and after screens became deeply embedded in daily life. And this current academic year stands out, she said.

"I think there's been an uptick in anxiety—a big uptick," she told me. "And really, an inability for students to calm themselves."

She also says parents are handing over screens earlier than ever in a child's development.

"It's not unusual for a parent to show up to a meeting with a toddler—or even a baby who can't yet walk—and hand them a device just to keep them quiet long enough to get through the day."

The evidence is undeniable. According to researcher Jean Twenge, 14- to 17-year-olds who spend more than seven hours a day on a screen are twice as likely to have been diagnosed with depression or anxiety. Teenagers who spend more than three hours a day on social media are also twice as likely to face mental health problems, including depression and anxiety.

A January study by Sapien Labs suggests that smartphones are making teens age 13 to 17 more aggressive, more prone to hallucinations and more likely to detach from reality.

Jonathan Haidt's paradigm-shifting book, The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness, is a flashing warning light to parents like me to recognize the alarming effects screens are having on our kids. He says that around 2010 to 2015, the brains of our kids underwent a "great rewiring."

Haidt argues that the near-constant screen time that modern kids are exposed to is dominating their lives and crowding out climbing trees, making friends and, just as important, making up with those friends after a fight. This time with peers is disappearing, being replaced by the sleek black screen that is shielding them from real interpersonal connections.

"Our kids lack a lot of the relationship skills that kind of keep one-on-one friendships going," Johnson said, "because they are spending so much time behind the screen."

Cold Turkey
The divorce was final, and I had met a new person, Niki, who I married just 2 months ago. One weekend, my (now) wife and I took William to her family's cabin outside of Beaver.

We decided we'd try an experiment. We told Williams there was no internet—and that was only sort of a lie. He was furious. But something happened.

He started to detox.

At the cabin, we made up a game where Niki and I sat on the couch while William spelled out words with the plushies—kind of like hangman. By the end of the weekend, we were sledding, laughing and making hot cocoa from melted snow.

He was different. Calmer. Kinder. He was himself again. Those big blue eyes were alive once again.

Soon after, I made the decision: it was time to go cold turkey. I was in a real relationship, I felt grounded, and I was finally becoming the dad I was meant to be.

"Son, can we talk?" I called him into my room. "We're about to go through some big changes."

"What?" he asked, furrowing his little brow.

"We're going to get off screens for good."

He squinted; brow furrowing even deeper. "What do you mean?"

"I mean no more screens. Permanently."

He looked at me like a piece of drywall had just fallen on his head. His eyes welled up with tears. "No!" he shouted, then stormed out of the room, screaming, "NO!"

The Attention Economy
In the evolution of human communication, the domination of smartphones and tablets happened faster than a blink. When the iPhone launched in 2007, it changed everything. The world's most powerful computer and communication device suddenly fit in your back pocket.

Then, just three years later, Apple upended the tech world again by introducing the iPad. The touchscreen interface was so intuitive that even a baby could use it. And before long, that's exactly what babies were doing.

Instagram (2010), Snapchat (2011), and TikTok (2016) didn't just change how we communicate—they transformed the American economy.

These platforms rewired our brain's reward systems, serving up dopamine hits in exchange for likes, views and endless scrolling. The more we used them, the more they rewarded us—and the harder it became to look away.

By 2012, schools across the country had begun adopting Chromebooks and iPads as part of classroom instruction. The trend accelerated during the pandemic, solidifying the presence of screens in nearly every academic setting.

With their widespread use came an implicit endorsement: screens weren't just a part of life—they became the bedrock of it.

Just say "no"? It's harder than you think.

Autoplay, notifications and infinite scroll have hijacked our attention and eroded our self-control, triggering a near-constant release of dopamine. Twenge, author of iGen, says the smartphone generation is simply "less happy" and "less prepared" for adulthood. Lembke draws direct connections between screen use and addictive behaviors in teens.

While Utah has taken steps to shield kids from some of the harms of social media, the federal government has done virtually nothing. And overwhelmed, overworked parents like me often choose the path of least resistance. We hand over the screen to avoid tantrums, fights and emotional withdrawal.

I did it constantly. But the divide created by screens isn't just virtual—it's painfully real.

"We also know how many families are rarely eating dinner together anymore," says Johnson. "Or even when you go out to dinner, everybody's on their screen waiting for the food to come."

And as children become more and more deficient in their interpersonal relationship skills, she added, it impacts the way they experience empathy and sympathy. "It's like they're getting this harsh little shell over the top of their tender little hearts," Johnson said.

click to enlarge

• Courtesy photo
• Chris Jones says his family’s now two-year-long effort to unplug has shown positive results.

Real-World Solutions
• Delay, Delay, Delay: In his book, Haidt recommends delaying device ownership and social media adoption—age 14 for phones and 16 for social media.

• Practice What You Preach: At first, I was asking William to cut back on screen time while I was still scrolling TikTok in front of him. I was telling him one thing, but modeling something else entirely.

Eventually, I realized that it had to change. Against all my instincts—and honestly, my own habits—I deleted TikTok from my phone. It felt like a small gesture, but to William, it meant everything. His respect for me grew. And, just as important, it made his own transition easier.

• It's A Tool, Not A Crutch: I began reframing how we use technology in our house. Tech is a tool—not a crutch. We now encourage using devices for creativity or learning: making music, editing videos or researching questions that spark curiosity. But we steer clear of passive consumption: binge-watching, doomscrolling and mindless gaming with no purpose.

Recently, I allowed William 30 minutes of screen time to look up information about seals and chemical elements, two things he's currently fascinated with. I always sit nearby.

We start each session with a goal. I'll say, "Remember, we're going to ask about different species of seals." And I make sure he sticks to that. Focused, intentional use—not a free-for-all.

• Be Fine With Being Bored: Instead of screens, we stretch out in the hammock, stroll down to the bird refuge by our house, or William rides his bike. He often complains that he's bored—but after about 30 minutes, something always sparks his curiosity.

Just the other day, he lay in the front yard, pulling at blades of grass and quietly watching the fat bumblebees drift around a nearby tree. Also, the sensory overload has faded. Instead of recoiling from touch, William now curls up beside me, tucking into the crook of my arm with warmth and ease. 

Becoming Ourselves
After William stormed out of my room that pivotal night, it took some time for his mind to adjust to the new reality. He was angry and snapped at me for a couple of days.

But then, one quiet afternoon in a fit of boredom, he picked up a LEGO set I had bought him for Christmas the year before—a complicated typewriter model with over 2,000 pieces.

For months, I had gently encouraged him to start building it. He always refused, often with frustration. But this time, without a word, he opened the box.

Four days later, the entire thing was assembled—2,079 pieces perfectly placed. That moment became a kind of turning point.

Two years have passed since we shut off the screens. Since just last May, William has devoured 51 books and the light in his blue eyes is back.

Has it solved every issue? Of course not. He still gets upset. He still only wants to eat mac and cheese. He still argues when I ask him to take a shower.

But now he's a different child—more focused, more present, more ... himself.