My teen sons feared they’d be bullied or beaten up when I banned their phones – the effect it had was eye-opening

OFF the back of Emma and Matt Willis’ powerful smartphone documentary, Nadia Cohen, 51, from London, suggested her kids go cold turkey, too.

Here’s how it went. . .

The first time I introduce the idea of a week-long digital detox, the reaction from my 16-year-old twins leaves me stunned.

“Fine,” mutters Felix. “Whatever,” agrees Harry.

I’d expected tense negotiations and bribery, yet here they are, grunting their agreement.

Then I realise it’s because, as usual, their noses are pressed to their screens and they haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.

So I repeat the plan, louder this time, and they gape at me in confused silence, before wailing: “Why?”

It’s because, like the vast majority of kids their age, they spend up to two hours per day (and up to as much as three or four hours at the weekend) scrolling TikTok and Snapchat, and playing Fifa on the Xbox.

Luckily, they have some non-screen hobbies, too, including football and skateboarding – but, still, I worry.

With a recent report from the Education Committee finding that almost 25% of children and young people use their smartphones in a way that is consistent with a behavioural addiction, and Matt and Emma Willis’ documentary for Channel 4 – Swiped: The School That Banned Smartphones – making headlines, the issue is gaining traction around the world.

The Swedish Public Health Authority recently issued guidelines that kids under two shouldn’t use digital media at all, while older children shouldn’t have more than three hours a day.

In the UK, grassroots campaigns, such as Smartphone Free Childhood, are growing in popularity as parents are questioning the effects.

I decide it’s time for drastic action. With rising panic, the twins ask what they’ll do if they need to contact me in an emergency, so I present them with ancient brick phones to enable them to make calls.

They eye them warily, then to my horror, confess they’re stressed about losing their Snapstreaks – a running total of how many days they’ve sent Snapchat messages to friends.

Some kids have streaks lasting more than 1,000 consecutive days, which makes my blood run cold.

Eventually, they agree to one week without smartphones, video games or streaming platforms, and in the interests of fairness, my husband Dan, 52, and I hand over our phones, too (with the caveat that we can use them during the ­day for work only).

Will it all end in tears? There’s only one way to find out.

Monday

The whole house is woken by what sounds like a fire engine smashing through the walls.

In fact, it’s the old-fashioned alarm clock I borrowed from my mum, in place of my phone’s alarm. Not a great start.

The kids seem wary about heading to school without their smartphones, and when I remind them that they can’t tap their devices to pay the bus fare, I’m met with blank faces.

Felix chooses this moment to inform me he lost his bank card weeks ago, so I scrabble around for coins to pay their fares, which takes so long they miss the bus.

Of course, they can’t work out when the next one is due, as it turns out reading old-fashioned timetables is not something this generation does.

Instead, they stomp off to the bus stop and hope for the best.

The first evening is not fun – they are sulky and resentful and complain about being bored.

Harry argues that only NPCs (non-playable characters, AKA nerds) have brick phones, and he tries to convince me he cannot possibly survive the week without being bullied or beaten up.

I hold firm. I confess I have sometimes resorted to phoning the boys to come downstairs for dinner, as it’s quicker and less stressful than shrieking from the kitchen, but when I go upstairs, they’re both in bed, moaning that they have nothing to do.

Wednesday

Harry has a part-time job as a waiter in a local restaurant three evenings a week and I usually use the Life360 app to monitor his journey home if he finishes late.

Without access to this, I nervously decide to meet him at the end of his shift, and we have a great chat on our walk home about which of his friends is dating who.

But Felix is seething about missing an online Fifa tournament and won’t speak to me at all.

Though I don’t admit it, I’m struggling, too.

I rely on alarms to remind me about tasks like putting the bins out and booking a spot in a gym class, which I inevitably forget about.

It’s not the end of the world, but I feel horribly disorganised.

Thursday

To my delight, Felix admits he looked out of the window of the bus all the way back from school, and it was “calm”. I’m too stunned to respond!

Before dinner, they go to the local skatepark together – something they haven’t done in months – and come home laughing, which is a joy.

After dinner, Harry proposes a kick-about in the garden, and it’s great to see them engaging in an activity together.

Friday

The boys tell me that they’ve been invited to a birthday party at the home of a new friend I don’t know.

Usually, I’d contact the parent to ask about supervision and whether there’ll be access to booze, but all the school parents’ groups are on WhatsApp and I don’t know any phone numbers – except the landline my parents had when I was 10.

A while ago, when the boys started going to parties, we agreed they could text us any time and we’d pick them up, no questions asked.

Without our contingency plan, I feel sick about them going to a strange house. Luckily, they are not mad keen either, so we agree they will skip this one.

It helps that they won’t be seeing all the posts flooding social media from the party, so the FOMO isn’t too painful.

Saturday

Not having access to any of our food delivery accounts means we have to forgo our weekend takeaway.

There is plenty of bickering, as the kids were looking forward to pizza, but Dan whips up an excellent curry instead and we agree it’s just as good.

Without being able to log into the streaming platforms, we have to hope there’s a film we all fancy on terrestrial TV.

There isn’t, so in desperation, I suggest dusting off the board games. I catch the twins rolling their eyes and Felix sighs: “Cringe,” but we play Pictionary pretty cheerfully for under an hour, before the bickering starts again.

It’s suddenly evident how short their attention spans have become – they used to happily sit through an entire movie or play a game, but now both of them are distracted after a few minutes.

Despondent, we’re in bed by 10pm – unheard of for a Saturday night.