Gadget or not gadget — that is the question

The day we break our own rule

At our camp there is one day when we break our own rule.

Usually we take phones away — children get them for one hour a day: to call mum and dad, take a couple of photos — and back to life.

But on excursion day we make an exception. Because Chernivtsi, a mountain hike or rafting down a wild river is a genuine “wow”. You want to keep the memory. You want to take a picture.

The campfire evening that almost didn't happen

And so in the evening after the trip we gather for a Ukrainian evening by the campfire. Songs, flower crowns, embroidered shirts. Atmosphere.

I walk up to the circle… and I feel everything inside me clench a little.

Almost all of the children are sitting with their phones. Some with a blanket pulled over their heads, some hugging a screen. And not because mum is calling. But because of YouTube Shorts. Scrolling. Scrolling. Another one. More. More.

“It's as if they aren't there. They're not in the mountains. Not by the campfire. Not with their friends. Their attention lives somewhere between one fragment and the next. Two seconds. Next. New. Next one. Next.”

Creating a gadget-free space gets harder every year

Creating a space without gadgets keeps getting harder.

This year quite a few teenagers flat-out refused to come to camp precisely because we don't have constant phone access. And there were parents who wanted their children to be reachable all the time — even though we have three around-the-clock admin numbers.

I'm not moralising. I'm a mother myself, and I'm looking for answers — how not to lose our children in this while we can still do something about it. Gadgets are with me and with my children every day. Yes, there are limits, parental controls. But that's not the point. The withdrawal is what frightens me more.

And here the question arises — what comes next?

The magical “but”

But! One magical “but” happens if you hold out at least two or three days without a phone in your hands. At camp it's magic. Proven over years.

“On the third day the withdrawal ends — and the children start coming back.”

They start sitting on the steps and chatting. Playing Mafia. Building secret forts. Drying rusk crackers to sell to the counsellors. Confessing their crushes. And suddenly… real friendships form. The kind that last for years.

Laughter appears. Genuine. Life is not on a screen — it's in each other's eyes.

Not a recipe, but a question

I don't know the perfect recipe. I'm not for a total ban and I'm not for free rein.

But I am definitely for us — parents, teachers, adults — asking ourselves the question. And finding, or creating, places for our children where they can remember what it means to live.

Simply breathe. Listen to yourself. Look at the sky, not at a screen. Simply make a friend. No filters.