This was published 6 months ago
Opinion
Nine days, no screens: How I turned my family holiday into a digital detox
Kellie Floyd
ContributorI can’t pinpoint the exact moment I decided our family holiday would be tech-free, but as I balanced working from home with the kids, I couldn’t shake the guilt of being constantly tethered to my phone.
I foolishly deemed it critical for my job, and grew intensely annoyed at my need for Wi-Fi and at my kids’ frequent requests to go online. I despised everything about my phone, my laptop and the kids’ iPads. I needed a break, so I decided my family needed one, too.
Saying goodbye to screens for nine days felt radical. Credit: iStock
My husband readily agreed to our upcoming holiday to Bright, in Victoria’s high country, being tech-free, recognising the same patterns of excessive connectivity. Unsurprisingly, our kids were less enthusiastic at the idea of having no screen access for nine days. While their reactions weren’t one of a world-ending catastrophe, they made it clear the plan to be without devices was a serious inconvenience.
You might assume that I’m one of those parents who relies on tech as a babysitter. But I assure you, I’m no pushover. If you asked them, my kids might even liken me to a benevolent dictator for my tight grip on screen time. And even though we’re an outdoorsy family, after a day hiking, riding or kayaking, we often offered the kids downtime on their iPads before dinner.
But like many others, the notion that my mobile phone must always be near in case of an emergency is one that’s slowly grown over time, insidiously inching its way closer and closer to being in my hand at all times. But as much as we like to think something terrible will happen if our phone isn’t within reach, for me, there is yet to be such an emergency. The most urgent call I’ve received during a family dinner was from a telemarketer.
Perhaps embarrassingly, my husband and I prepared for our detox with a level of seriousness usually reserved for a military operation. Our agreed strategy was to leave all devices except our mobile phones behind, with the phones kept on silent and hidden away in a designated spot. Daily check-ins for missed calls or urgent messages were permitted only after the kids went to bed, and phones were to be put away again immediately – no scrolling or checking in.
When time for our holiday arrived, we armoured up with a stack of determination. And by determination, I mean a four-wheel drive packed to the brim with analogue fun. Bikes and kayaks strapped to the roof, stockpiles of books, colouring sheets and enough Lego to build a fortress.
We played traditional road trip games on the drive. I grabbed my DSLR camera to capture the Insta-perfect moments. During what we dubbed as downtime, the kids played with a handful of toys or we competitively tried to win at family board games.
The biggest concern I’d had before setting off was the potential for tech tantrums. Having read nightmare stories of children screaming from withdrawal or going so far as to break into locked cupboards to access devices, I had no trouble imaging the worst. But I also wondered how my husband and I would go, and if we would be irritable or tetchy without the instant gratification that comes from refreshing a newsfeed.
But for all that worry, the tantrums never came. Our detox was not only a complete success, it was also a lot easier than I’d expected. I assumed we’d instinctively reach for our phones or forget what to do with our hands, or run out of things to talk about, but of course, none of us did.
After, I began to wonder why it is that we feel the need to take our phones with us everywhere. Science tells us we check our phones to get a hit of dopamine, but strolling to the ice-cream shop after dinner with a $20 note in my pocket was refreshing, as was learning how to use a new camera setting, and sliding down the river waterslide in one epic family swoop proved far more exhilarating than merely filming it from the shore on my iPhone.
When we returned home and did a proper check of our devices, what did we actually miss? There were a few messages from friends for the kids, and an invitation to a girls’ night out for me. Both important in their own ways, but far from being the catastrophic emergencies we’ve become accustomed to expect.
Kellie Floyd is a freelance writer and marketing and communications consultant.
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