Life like screen time

 Deborah Lane wasn’t always angry. But lately, it felt like everything set her off, her children arguing over who touched the remote, the neighbor’s barking dog, the clerk who didn’t bag the groceries right. At 46, she found herself seething more often than smiling.


She told herself it was just stress. Two kids, one part-time job, and a home that never stayed clean. Her phone became her lifeline, a quiet escape into curated calm: Pinterest recipes she’d never cook, DIY videos she’d never try, and mindfulness quotes she’d never practice. Thirty minutes here, an hour there, maybe two. Scrolling helped her stay “balanced” or at least that’s what she thought.


But her children noticed.

“Mammy, you’re always on your phone.”

“No I not!” she snapped, locking the screen and instantly raising her voice.

“You are. And you’re always mad these days.”

It hit her harder than she expected.


That night, Deborah sat in her room with the door shut. Not scrolling, just sitting. The silence made her uncomfortable. She thought about the editorial she’d skimmed earlier, “Master Your Anger Like You Master Your Screen Time.” She had half-laughed at the idea. But now it felt uncomfortably true.


She picked up a notebook. Triggers, she wrote.

•        “When the house is messy.”

•        “When the kids don’t listen.”

•        “When I feel invisible.”

That last one stung.


The next morning, something changed. She didn’t throw her phone on the nightstand, but she did turn off her notifications. When her daughter accidentally spilled milk, Deborah closed her eyes and counted—one, two… all the way to ninety. She didn’t yell. She handed her a towel. Her daughter stared at her like she was a stranger, then smiled.


It wasn’t perfect. The dog still barked. The neighbor still parked too close. But Deborah was learning to pause, to breathe, to choose response over reaction. She used the energy from her anger to clean with focus, to write in her journal, to go for walks instead of scrolling.


The phone was still in her life. But it wasn’t her lifeline anymore.

By the August vacation, the children noticed again.

“Moms,  change,” her son said one night. “You don’t shout as much.”

Deborah smiled. “I’m working on the turning storms into strength.”

And she was. One breath, one pause, one choice at a time.


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