The experiment that changed how we do screens

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Helping young people own their attention and build the skills and mindsets they need to flourish as humans.

The experiment that changed how we do screens

How we stopped exploding and started co-piloting

Meghan Fitzgerald
May 13, 2026

I have noticed a pattern. Maybe you have too.
Kids quietly seem to just disappear. Time evaporates. I look up and realize they’ve been alone and out of sight for a while. And, sure enough, I find them on a screen. Discomfort wells up, and I explode with some version of a broad, anti-screen proclamation. In response, the tech is put away. But very little is actually learned, other than: we put screens away to appease Mom; and she doesn’t really get what it’s like to be a kid today.

This understandable reflex also cements our roles as members of opposing teams in this game of screens and life. When really, I want to be on the same team as my kids, playing alongside and putting up the best shots we can, together.

A little over a month ago, I read Rheana Murray’s piece in T he Atlantic that opened up a new possibility. It described one rule that experts widely rally around: No screens in the bedroom. Ever.

To be clear, I’m not surfacing this to advocate that everyone follow this rule. I’m sharing it because it gave my husband and me a concrete idea upon which to base an experiment. And the process of turning this rule into a family experiment taught all five of us a range of things about ourselves and screens—likely more than any rule alone ever could.

A bit more background

In our house of five, four of us have access to phones. One doesn’t, but she does use an iPad to text with friends and to watch Modern Family (the Dunphy’s are like family, at this point).

For both kids who have phones, we’ve enforced a protocol where they must learn about phones before they get one, and we all sign a family contract to agree on healthy habits, limits, and responsibilities. Additionally, we also have agreed upon screen time limits and conduct pretty regular “how’s it going” conversations. But before now, none of us have ever known this particular screen-free bedroom boundary.

The pitch

I asked everyone to keep an evening free, made dinner early, and laid out the idea:

I shared something like, I read an article that I can’t stop thinking about. It described one rule that doctors, psychologists, and researchers all agree on for having a healthier relationship with technology. Any guesses?

A pause. Some wrinkled brows… What is she up to this time?

No screens in the bedroom. Ever.

No screens in the bedroom. Ever.

My 13-year-old could only hear that I was going to take something away, and the tears welled fast. In the end, it all worked out. I suspect no matter how elegantly I’d framed it, some pushback was inevitable. If I had to do it over again, though, I would have led with the experiment, not the rule. Something like — I have an idea for something we want to try together as a family. We’ll need everyone to be open to a new idea AND weigh in on how we design it so it actually works for all of us.

My best advice is to expect and be ready to receive pushback, then make really good on promises to “co-design” the experiment together.

The idea session

As we ate our dessert, we busted out some post-it notes. I put up a big piece of chart paper with two columns, one for benefits and another for challenges. For about 15 minutes, all five of us generated ideas — one per post-it — in response to two prompts: How might we benefit from having no screens in our bedrooms? What would be challenging about it?

Then, each of us shared out our ideas as we stuck each note on the chart. Kids first. As we went, we also organized them into themes and categories.

Much came of this session, far more than I anticipated. Unlike every time I had erupted with worry about screen overuse, I actually gained a better sense of what screens meant to my kids. This session slowed all of us down enough to listen to one another. We got to hear about the importance of private calls with friends, of alone time, of music that only they really love, of knowing about the trends that everyone is talking about, and of being able to lean on peers in ways that phones and iPads make possible.

Talking this all out gave us a real chance to come to understand the word prosocial together to describe the kinds of screen uses that genuinely promote connection. Prosocial is a word we’ve now introduced into our lexicon when we’re evaluating a screen experience: is this prosocial, or is this blocking or detracting from connection?

The benefits fell into four main categories: improved sleep; less solitude; better use of time; and more safety (media). Not a person could argue that there are real life hobbies, activities and connections that suffer when we lose ourselves in screens. We each easily generated multiple examples of this in our lives.

We also talked openly about how solo screen use in a room can tip into something unhealthy. We all agreed that we can get lost in a downward spiral of next episodes and infinite scrolls. And we wondered together if just consuming media, with headphones on, in a shared space could keep a natural check on that.

The shared understanding we built that night alone has been worth the effort to experiment.

The experiment we designed together

After the brainstorm, I drafted a design based on our conversation. Then, we discussed, refined and came to an agreement. Here’s where we landed:

Goal: Test the “no screens in the bedroom” idea for 30 days to see how it impacts how we think, feel, and spend our time.

Experimental conditions—

Spirit of the game— Our attention and wellness matter. The experiment won’t mean anything if we don’t actually try. Supportively remind and encourage each other as needed.

Check-ins— Once a week, we’ll chat about what we’re learning and whether anything needs adjusting.

Materials— Our experiment required: headphones; a sizable surge protector ($13); and two old school digital alarm clocks ($15 each). We also splurged for one Brick ($59), a neat device that allows you to choose which distracting apps you want to disable; then you actually tap your phone to the physical device to block those apps or re-enable them. It creates the kind of real-world friction that makes owning your attention an actual, felt choice rather than a notification you can quietly ignore.

What we found

As early as one week in, everyone had something to share. After 30 days, here are the highlights:

11-year-old (iPad user)

13-year-old (new phone user)

16-year-old (phone and social media user)

Mom

Dad

What felt like a setback at the moment actually got some sunlight on what makes this so hard for kids. Watching them re-engage with more investment after that conversation — I’ll take that as a real win.

Missteps were part of the learning

About two weeks in, our 13-year-old quietly reconfigured their Brick to unblock YouTube, then racked up some solo watch time before we caught on. We sat with them outside, away from sibling ears, listened to what drove the choice (a trend their friends were buzzing about, a worry their older sibling would make fun of them for it). We were able to show that we understood while also asking important questions about trust and attention. This led them to earnestly want to honor the experiment. And it allowed us to reinforce that they could always come to us when they need support or grace in moments like that one. What felt like a setback at the moment actually got some sunlight on what makes this so hard for kids. Watching them re-engage with more investment after that conversation — I’ll take that as a real win.

Perhaps most importantly, what this experiment taught us is that the rules we make for kids land differently than rules we make with them.

What happens now

We just regrouped to decide how we want to roll moving forward. We agreed to keep up with many of the new habits. And, we’ll see what happens when we shift from “experiment” mode to “life” mode.

Brick seems here to stay. Most phones, most nights, still charge in the kitchen. The sleep benefits seem too good to give up. When one of us genuinely needs a little alone time with a screen, we’ll try to say so, set a reasonable time frame (e.g. 1 episode, 30 minutes), and enjoy it, shame-free. We’ll also continue to remind everyone of what our youngest found—that she does more “other stuff” when she is not defaulting to a screen. There is magic, connection, and humanity in that offline “stuff,” and we all need to remind one another to attend to such pursuits actively.

We’ve also found ourselves enjoying being in the same space together, doing different things, with and without headphones on as needed. Of course, we each like to balance that with moments of personal retreat and privacy, but we’d all agree that, net net, it feels better to be around other people.

Perhaps most importantly, what this experiment really taught us is that the rules we make for kids land differently than rules we make with them. And the conversations along the way — the post-its, the pushback, and the check-ins in between are the real work and the real value.