Digital Detox for Muslim Families: Reclaiming Time and Presence from Smartphone Addiction
[Internet Repost]
Drawing from the Quranic teaching to avoid 'vain talk,' I’m reflecting on how short-form videos and smartphones are hurting our family connections and our children’s mental growth. It’s time to put the phones down, revisit timeless wisdom, and rebuild a warm, intentional home life.
By Hayley
Surah Luqman (31:6) from the Quran: 'And of the people is he who buys the amusement of speech to mislead from the way of Allah without knowledge and who takes it in ridicule. Those will have a humiliating punishment.'
This is my sixth smartphone. When I first got a phone, it was just a tool for calling or sending texts—I remember when every text cost ten cents. Now, I don't even use texts, and I couldn't care less about the cost. All I care about is where my phone is and if it's charged. It’s always in my hand, and it feels like a security blanket; if it’s not there, I feel totally lost. I only put it down when I’m cooking, performing my dua (prayer), or sleeping. The rest of the time, even if I’m not using it, my hands reach for it constantly, like I’m clutching a gold nugget I’m terrified of losing. It’s this little device that’s quietly stealing my time and turning me into a numb, indifferent person.
A lot of the time, I only open it to look up some information—something that should take ten minutes. But one scroll later, I’m sucked into short videos and binge-watching dramas, losing massive chunks of time. Lately, I’ve been addicted to these short-form drama series. I know full well that the plots—the bossy CEOs and the naive heroines—are total fiction that would never happen in real life. I’m not delusional; I know that kind of story isn't my reality, but I still can’t stop hitting the next episode. I’m not even fantasizing about that life; I’m just using those few minutes of drama to dodge the messy reality of my own life—to avoid the housework, the kids' chores, and all the heavy pressures of everyday living. But this short-term escape comes at a high price. Afterward, I’m left feeling empty and regretful, having lost sleep and time that should have been spent with my kids or on my own personal growth. My life has become a contradiction.
I think about my sister, who developed a funny but sad side effect after watching these dramas. When she’s free, she’ll randomly mutter, 'The CEO fell in love with a divorced woman with three kids.' She says it jokingly, but the kids are listening. One time, I asked her middle daughter what her mom had been up to, and the little girl told me, 'Mom’s being weird—she keeps saying that thing about the CEO and the divorced woman. It’s actually kind of gross.' I chuckled, because I get her. It’s like something out of an Eileen Chang novel—a hidden yearning that hurts. Trapped in the mud of daily life, it’s not exactly a crime to indulge in a little fantasy. I know my sister; even if she dreams about this, she’d take all the hardships of her marriage in silence rather than abandon her kids for a CEO dream. Those male leads in the dramas are rich, handsome, and devoted—a life of marital bliss and professional success. These scripts are just beautiful lies spun by screenwriters. For people whose real marriages aren't perfect, it’s just rubbing salt in the wound. It raises the bar for unrealistic expectations for the unmarried and amplifies the dissatisfaction of the married. I’m a person with strong values and a clear head; my only weakness is a lack of self-discipline.
After dinner, I’m physically exhausted and just want to rest, finish my dua, and get to sleep. But the second I crawl into bed and my fingers touch my phone, the urge to sleep vanishes. I get more awake with every scroll, watching one episode and telling myself, 'Just one more.' Next thing I know, it’s the middle of the night. If I really think about it, I spend maybe two hours a day cooking and cleaning, and half an hour helping the kids with homework. Those chores always make me feel physically drained and full of complaints. Yet, I can lie in bed for three or four hours, glued to my phone, without a problem. Living this way, controlled by a phone, makes me feel like a zombie. I feel weak and lightheaded when I’m doing housework or distracted and rushing through my dua, but the moment I pick up my phone, I suddenly feel 'fine' and forget all my fatigue. I’ve tried to control myself, but I keep losing.
My children have become little phone addicts too. Every day they beg me, 'Mom, can we watch for just a little longer?' They even bicker with each other over who gets more screen time. They don't want to go play outside or visit relatives—they just want to stare at their screens. The phone is like a 'third party' between me and my children. I know all of this, but I feel powerless. I know that if I want to change my kids, I have to fix myself first. But I keep wondering if it’s too late—is this just damage control? Whenever I’m trapped in this phone-induced cycle, during my dua, I silently ask Allah to help me spend my time on what actually matters and to be a better mother.
Of course, not everything on a phone is bad. I came across a video that really hit home: people can tolerate years or decades of an unhappy, painful life, but they can’t bring themselves to put in the effort to fight for something better. We’d rather suffer silently than go all-in. If we just pushed hard for a few years, maybe things could change. Why do we settle for drifting along, refusing to step out of our comfort zone to change ourselves? Today, I’m laying out these raw, not-so-flattering thoughts like a confession or a contract to myself. I need to restrain myself and take control, not be governed by this screen. But even as I make these internal promises, I’m still struggling to escape the whirlpool.
Later, I realized something: I’m not really fighting a smartphone; I’m fighting an entire industry designed to make me look at the screen for just one more second. There are thousands of people behind it whose job is to keep me hooked. If I can’t beat them with just my willpower, maybe that’s not something to be ashamed of.
Seneca once said, 'We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.' The visual rush of short videos is just a fleeting mental drug; after the brief high, what we’ve actually lost is our precious time. Benjamin Franklin also said, 'Do you love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.'
A person of character uses tools, but isn't used by them. The phone itself isn't inherently good or bad; it all depends on who is in control. I don't have to get rid of it entirely—I just need to reset our relationship. I want to coexist with my phone as an equal, letting it be a helpful tool for learning, recording, and growing, rather than a master that dominates me.
The writer Mai Jia once said that if you stay in the same old routine, you’ll never reach where you want to go. A goal without action is just a daydream. Realizing this, I’m trying to discipline myself by using my phone only for productive hobbies: practicing calligraphy or writing in my diary. If I get distracted during my dua, I’m trying not to beat myself up too much. Reflecting on it and realizing I’m distracted is proof that my heart is still in the right place. If my mind wanders, I’ll just bring it back. As for it being 'too late,' I’m telling myself: my kids are still small, they’re still pestering me for more screen time—which means they’re still waiting for me to set the rules and lead by example. It would be too late if they stopped asking and just sat in silence with their devices. Writing this now? It’s exactly the right time.
That video really struck a chord, but haven't I already taken the first step? I’ve written these thoughts down. Once it's out, I’m not bottling it up alone anymore. I think most people struggle with this, so I’m not going to make some grand promise to 'never be controlled by my phone again'—that’s just unrealistic. I’m only promising one thing for tonight: after my dua, I’m putting my phone somewhere I can't reach from bed. Just that one thing. If I do it tonight, I’ll worry about tomorrow when it gets here.
I’m the type of person who looks back, thinks things over, and refuses to just sit still when there’s a problem. Life is like a giant bed—I’m just exploring the most comfortable way to live out this ordinary life.
I’m grateful for this moment of reflection. May the books we read and the words we write be stepping stones that lead us to a better, more meaningful life!
Drawing from the Quranic teaching to avoid 'vain talk,' I’m reflecting on how short-form videos and smartphones are hurting our family connections and our children’s mental growth. It’s time to put the phones down, revisit timeless wisdom, and rebuild a warm, intentional home life.
By Hayley
Surah Luqman (31:6) from the Quran: 'And of the people is he who buys the amusement of speech to mislead from the way of Allah without knowledge and who takes it in ridicule. Those will have a humiliating punishment.'
This is my sixth smartphone. When I first got a phone, it was just a tool for calling or sending texts—I remember when every text cost ten cents. Now, I don't even use texts, and I couldn't care less about the cost. All I care about is where my phone is and if it's charged. It’s always in my hand, and it feels like a security blanket; if it’s not there, I feel totally lost. I only put it down when I’m cooking, performing my dua (prayer), or sleeping. The rest of the time, even if I’m not using it, my hands reach for it constantly, like I’m clutching a gold nugget I’m terrified of losing. It’s this little device that’s quietly stealing my time and turning me into a numb, indifferent person.
A lot of the time, I only open it to look up some information—something that should take ten minutes. But one scroll later, I’m sucked into short videos and binge-watching dramas, losing massive chunks of time. Lately, I’ve been addicted to these short-form drama series. I know full well that the plots—the bossy CEOs and the naive heroines—are total fiction that would never happen in real life. I’m not delusional; I know that kind of story isn't my reality, but I still can’t stop hitting the next episode. I’m not even fantasizing about that life; I’m just using those few minutes of drama to dodge the messy reality of my own life—to avoid the housework, the kids' chores, and all the heavy pressures of everyday living. But this short-term escape comes at a high price. Afterward, I’m left feeling empty and regretful, having lost sleep and time that should have been spent with my kids or on my own personal growth. My life has become a contradiction.
I think about my sister, who developed a funny but sad side effect after watching these dramas. When she’s free, she’ll randomly mutter, 'The CEO fell in love with a divorced woman with three kids.' She says it jokingly, but the kids are listening. One time, I asked her middle daughter what her mom had been up to, and the little girl told me, 'Mom’s being weird—she keeps saying that thing about the CEO and the divorced woman. It’s actually kind of gross.' I chuckled, because I get her. It’s like something out of an Eileen Chang novel—a hidden yearning that hurts. Trapped in the mud of daily life, it’s not exactly a crime to indulge in a little fantasy. I know my sister; even if she dreams about this, she’d take all the hardships of her marriage in silence rather than abandon her kids for a CEO dream. Those male leads in the dramas are rich, handsome, and devoted—a life of marital bliss and professional success. These scripts are just beautiful lies spun by screenwriters. For people whose real marriages aren't perfect, it’s just rubbing salt in the wound. It raises the bar for unrealistic expectations for the unmarried and amplifies the dissatisfaction of the married. I’m a person with strong values and a clear head; my only weakness is a lack of self-discipline.
After dinner, I’m physically exhausted and just want to rest, finish my dua, and get to sleep. But the second I crawl into bed and my fingers touch my phone, the urge to sleep vanishes. I get more awake with every scroll, watching one episode and telling myself, 'Just one more.' Next thing I know, it’s the middle of the night. If I really think about it, I spend maybe two hours a day cooking and cleaning, and half an hour helping the kids with homework. Those chores always make me feel physically drained and full of complaints. Yet, I can lie in bed for three or four hours, glued to my phone, without a problem. Living this way, controlled by a phone, makes me feel like a zombie. I feel weak and lightheaded when I’m doing housework or distracted and rushing through my dua, but the moment I pick up my phone, I suddenly feel 'fine' and forget all my fatigue. I’ve tried to control myself, but I keep losing.
My children have become little phone addicts too. Every day they beg me, 'Mom, can we watch for just a little longer?' They even bicker with each other over who gets more screen time. They don't want to go play outside or visit relatives—they just want to stare at their screens. The phone is like a 'third party' between me and my children. I know all of this, but I feel powerless. I know that if I want to change my kids, I have to fix myself first. But I keep wondering if it’s too late—is this just damage control? Whenever I’m trapped in this phone-induced cycle, during my dua, I silently ask Allah to help me spend my time on what actually matters and to be a better mother.
Of course, not everything on a phone is bad. I came across a video that really hit home: people can tolerate years or decades of an unhappy, painful life, but they can’t bring themselves to put in the effort to fight for something better. We’d rather suffer silently than go all-in. If we just pushed hard for a few years, maybe things could change. Why do we settle for drifting along, refusing to step out of our comfort zone to change ourselves? Today, I’m laying out these raw, not-so-flattering thoughts like a confession or a contract to myself. I need to restrain myself and take control, not be governed by this screen. But even as I make these internal promises, I’m still struggling to escape the whirlpool.
Later, I realized something: I’m not really fighting a smartphone; I’m fighting an entire industry designed to make me look at the screen for just one more second. There are thousands of people behind it whose job is to keep me hooked. If I can’t beat them with just my willpower, maybe that’s not something to be ashamed of.
Seneca once said, 'We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.' The visual rush of short videos is just a fleeting mental drug; after the brief high, what we’ve actually lost is our precious time. Benjamin Franklin also said, 'Do you love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.'
A person of character uses tools, but isn't used by them. The phone itself isn't inherently good or bad; it all depends on who is in control. I don't have to get rid of it entirely—I just need to reset our relationship. I want to coexist with my phone as an equal, letting it be a helpful tool for learning, recording, and growing, rather than a master that dominates me.
The writer Mai Jia once said that if you stay in the same old routine, you’ll never reach where you want to go. A goal without action is just a daydream. Realizing this, I’m trying to discipline myself by using my phone only for productive hobbies: practicing calligraphy or writing in my diary. If I get distracted during my dua, I’m trying not to beat myself up too much. Reflecting on it and realizing I’m distracted is proof that my heart is still in the right place. If my mind wanders, I’ll just bring it back. As for it being 'too late,' I’m telling myself: my kids are still small, they’re still pestering me for more screen time—which means they’re still waiting for me to set the rules and lead by example. It would be too late if they stopped asking and just sat in silence with their devices. Writing this now? It’s exactly the right time.
That video really struck a chord, but haven't I already taken the first step? I’ve written these thoughts down. Once it's out, I’m not bottling it up alone anymore. I think most people struggle with this, so I’m not going to make some grand promise to 'never be controlled by my phone again'—that’s just unrealistic. I’m only promising one thing for tonight: after my dua, I’m putting my phone somewhere I can't reach from bed. Just that one thing. If I do it tonight, I’ll worry about tomorrow when it gets here.
I’m the type of person who looks back, thinks things over, and refuses to just sit still when there’s a problem. Life is like a giant bed—I’m just exploring the most comfortable way to live out this ordinary life.
I’m grateful for this moment of reflection. May the books we read and the words we write be stepping stones that lead us to a better, more meaningful life!
