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This Christmas I will leave the frigid state of Iowa to spend the holidays with my daughter, Kristil, in Paris. Despite my excitement at reuniting with her after a year apart, I'm also grappling with the unintended strain digital tools have put on our relationship during past visits.
Before the plane even touches down at Charles de Gaulle, I’ll likely be taking pictures and posting to social media. As a freelance writer who lives in the digital world, I’m driven to document. As a mother to my only child, who has been living abroad for nearly six years, I am eager to seize every moment of our visits. My daughter is a digital minimalist and prefers to use technology with purpose. This contrast in our perspectives has become a source of conflict.
Growing up in a single-parent household, Kristil was determined to forge her own path early on. It didn’t surprise me when my 12-year-old daughter, having read about the harmful effects of having technology in her bedroom, approached me with a determined look in her eyes. She requested my help moving her television and computer to another room in our apartment. She was already aware of the negative impact of being too connected.
As a teen, dreaming of attending a top university, Kristil read Cal Newport’s How to Become a Straight-A Student. Later, having earned a scholarship to Columbia University, she aligned herself with another of Newport’s insights—Digital Minimalism. Advocating for a more deliberate engagement with technology, she spoke about eliminating digital clutter.
A year later, the difference in our digital engagement patterns became even clearer. As an empty nester with extra time on my hands and a budding freelance writing career, I explored the virtual landscape. But as I was setting up new accounts on Instagram and Twitter, Kristill was eschewing hers.
I was sitting at my desk one afternoon when a message popped up from Kristil, who was living in Sweden while studying for her master’s degree. “Mom, I think I’m going to deactivate my Facebook,” she texted. “But I’ll still have Messenger, so don’t worry.”
I panicked. With an ocean separating us, social media helped me feel more connected to Kristil. Her likes and comments on my Facebook posts meant far more than she realized. Though I tried to remain calm, three messages later, I lost my composure. “Why are you isolating me?” I asked. “We have so few ways to connect as it is,” I said, my response a mix of confusion and hurt. It took a phone call for me to realize the truth—that I was projecting my fears and insecurities onto Kristil. She wasn’t distancing herself from me, she was setting boundaries around her social media use, a concept I had yet to grasp.
Our digital differences reached a boiling point when Kristil returned home from Sweden during the pandemic. Overjoyed to spend her birthday with her for the first time in five years, I went all out. I decorated our apartment with two dozen balloons, birthday signs, and colorful crepe paper streamers before Kristil woke up. When she walked into the living room, where her gifts awaited, she grinned from ear to ear at the site of it all. But her joy didn’t last long. An hour later, she discovered that I had uploaded pictures of everything, including her bedroom, to Facebook. She felt I had violated her privacy, while I felt she was rejecting our shared life. My heart sank. Kristil’s joyful birthday morning turned into an argument that left both of us feeling hurt. Later that night, after our heated exchange, I lay in bed replaying the events in my mind. I felt a deep sense of sadness over the rift that my actions had caused.
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Larry Rosen, a psychologist who studies the “psychology of technology,” says our differing views on digital privacy reveal a relationship tension point. Rosen argues that technology, meant to bridge gaps, can instead cause emotional divides. In my daughter’s eyes, her birthday was a private event to be celebrated between the two of us and not for the gazing eyes of social media. My sharing with the world took away from its authenticity and violated her privacy. I felt validated and connected by sharing the celebration with my extended community. We had reached an impasse.
Kristil’s move to Paris a year later provided both an opportunity for me to visit and the perfect backdrop for our continued dilemma. My first time traveling abroad and to a location as stunning as the City of Light, I had my camera ready before the wheels of the plane even touched down. Overwhelmed with emotion, I gasped at the first sight of my daughter. My natural response was to capture the moment. Knowing it was my first trip to Europe, Kristil humored my photographic fervor: snapping pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower, asking waiters to capture our dinners out, and seizing scenic strolls along the Seine as we crossed from the right bank to the left.
Then, one afternoon, sauntering down a cobblestone street on our way to lunch—when I was supposed to be soaking in the experience and enjoying our conversation, something I looked forward to—I found myself more in tune with the vibration of my phone than Kristil. “Mom, you’re missing out,” I heard her say as I took photos and uploaded them to social media. Jolted by the stark contradiction of my actions—losing precious, present moments to the very act of trying to capture them—and the anxiety it was causing me—I knew I needed to make a change.
Based on my personal experiences, I find the research on smartphones quite striking. The University of British Columbia conducted a comprehensive study that revealed the subtle yet significant impact of smartphones on social interactions. The mere presence of these devices, even when not actively used, was found to diminish the quality of face-to-face conversations. This constant pull of attention, a subtle distraction, resonated with the disconnect I felt—a contradiction between being physically present and mentally scattered.
Complementing this, research conducted by Harvard University delves into the cognitive consequences of multitasking with digital devices. The study reveals that juggling multiple digital platforms simultaneously does not just scatter our attention but actively impairs cognitive performance. This multitasking leads to a decrease in the quality of focus and memory retention, corroborating my feelings of mental clutter and heightened stress during digitally divided moments.
So, this year, as I pack my luggage, I’m bringing not only wrapped presents but the gift of presence in the form of a digital semi-detox plan—a compromise my daughter and I have agreed upon. According to a study by RescueTime, the average person checks their phone approximately 58 times every day. Additionally, DataReportal reports that people spend nearly 2.5 hours daily on social media. When attending events, individuals spend about 40 percent of their time taking pictures, with an average of 23 pictures taken per event. Our plan will incorporate a more balanced approach:
When venturing out solo, I am free to snap photos and share to my heart’s desire.During joint ventures, we have a 10-picture limit per outing.Kristil agrees to a single mother-daughter picture per venture, only to be shared on social media with mutual consent.We’re allowed brief “check-ins” at venues like restaurants and museums, after which we put our phones away, other than for pictures that are part of our daily 10-photo quota.We plan one tech-free excursion each week where neither of us checks our phones.
While our plan doesn’t require complete abstinence from media, it will challenge me to reduce my device use while asking Kristil to extend hers. Our pact is about more than just rules, it is a renewed commitment to presence.
As I count down the days to precious time spent with my daughter, I remind myself that genuine connection lies not in photo ops or posts, but in moments of togetherness that no lens or social media post can ever capture.
