The Zombie Family: How We Lost Each Other to Our Screens

Part 1 of a series on reclaiming human connection in the age of corporate social media

I need to start with a confession.

On average, I spend six to eight hours a day on my phone. Some days more. As someone who runs a technology business, who researches, communicates, and operates largely through these devices, I've become exactly the kind of person this article is about. I am not writing this from some position of moral superiority. I am writing it as someone deep in the trenches, fighting the same battle as every other parent.

Because here's the thing: we are all struggling with this.

The Zombie Family

Watch any family in any public space—a restaurant, a park, an airport lounge—and you will witness the same scene play out with eerie consistency. Four or five people, bound by blood and shared history, physically proximate yet psychologically estranged. Each one cocooned in their own glowing rectangle. Each one receiving their own algorithmically-curated feed of content designed not to inform or connect, but to engage. To capture. To hold hostage.

I call this the Zombie Family. Not because these are stupid people—they are not. But because something essential has been extracted from them. The invisible threads that once bound families together—attention, presence, shared experience, the simple act of being together—have been systematically severed by forces most of us barely understand.

Here is the uncomfortable truth: we didn't just adopt smartphones. We became phone people. And phone people check their phones. That's who they are. The device that promised to connect us has severed us. The tool designed to save time has consumed it entirely.

And I include my own family in this observation. I've caught myself glancing at notifications while my children were speaking to me. I've been that dad at the dinner table, physically present but mentally elsewhere. This is not a sermon from the converted. It's a reflection from someone still very much in the struggle.

The Zombification of Public Space

Walk down any high street and observe. People cross roads with their eyes fixed on screens, gambling their lives against the possibility of missing a notification. They navigate oncoming traffic through peripheral vision alone, their primary attention consumed by content that will be forgotten within seconds.

This is not hyperbole. People die this way. Every year, pedestrians are killed because a TikTok video or an Instagram story was deemed more worthy of attention than their own survival. The algorithm has become so effective at capturing human consciousness that it can override our most basic self-preservation instincts.

Consider the phenomenon of “selfie deaths”—tourists falling from cliff edges, drowning in rip currents, struck by trains, all while attempting to capture the perfect photograph for social validation. Between 2011 and 2024, over 400 people died taking selfies. The need for digital approval has become more powerful than the fear of death itself.

If that does not constitute a societal emergency, I do not know what does.

The Slow Erosion of Family Bonds

The family unit—humanity's oldest and most fundamental institution—is being dismantled not by any external enemy, but by devices we voluntarily place in our children's hands and our own pockets.

The erosion happens gradually. Day by day. Meal by meal. Conversation by interrupted conversation. A child speaks and a parent glances at a notification. A teenager retreats to their room—not rebelliously, but simply because the algorithmic feed in their pocket offers more stimulation than the humans downstairs. A couple sits together in silence, not the comfortable silence of intimacy, but the disconnected silence of two people experiencing entirely separate digital realities.

The connections that once formed organically through shared boredom—the car journeys, the waiting rooms, the Sunday afternoons with nothing to do—have been filled with infinite content. And in filling that space, we have eliminated the conditions under which genuine human connection occurs.

The Shorts Epidemic: Rewiring Young Brains

Let's talk about what's actually happening to our children's brains.

The short-form video format—TikTok, YouTube Shorts, Instagram Reels—is particularly insidious. These aren't just time-wasters. They're actively rewiring how young brains process information. Fifteen to sixty seconds of highly stimulating content, followed immediately by another, then another, then another. The brain adapts to this constant stream of novelty. It learns to expect it. And then everything else—school, books, conversations, the patient unfolding of real life—feels unbearably slow.

Teachers report students who can no longer focus on a single task for more than a few minutes. Parents describe children who become irritable and restless without their devices. These are not signs of moral weakness. They are symptoms of neurological adaptation to a stimulus environment that did not exist a decade ago.

Think about what this means. The child who struggles to sit through dinner isn't being difficult—they've been neurologically conditioned for constant novelty. The teenager who can't focus on homework isn't lazy—their brain has been trained to expect a dopamine hit every fifteen seconds. The algorithm has become the operating system of their psyche.

We are conducting a vast, uncontrolled experiment on an entire generation's cognitive development. And we are only beginning to see the results.

Let Us Be Clear: This Is Not Accidental

Corporate social media exists for one purpose: to capture your attention and sell it to advertisers. Every feature, every notification, every algorithmic recommendation is engineered toward this single goal. Your wellbeing, your family's cohesion, your children's psychological development—these are not factors in the equation.

The business model is simple and brutal: the more time you spend on the platform, the more advertisements you see, the more money the company makes. There is no incentive whatsoever for these platforms to limit your usage, to protect your attention, or to safeguard your relationships.

In fact, the opposite is true. The algorithms have been refined over fifteen years to exploit human psychological vulnerabilities with surgical precision. They know that outrage drives engagement. That social comparison creates addiction. That variable reward schedules—the same mechanism that makes slot machines irresistible—keep users scrolling long past the point of enjoyment.

Spain's Prime Minister recently pointed out that some social media companies generate more economic turnover than entire nation states. Think about that. These platforms have resources exceeding many countries. They can hire the best psychologists, the best engineers, the best data scientists. And all of that talent is directed at one goal: keeping your children scrolling.

Warning

Your children's attention is worth billions. Every minute they spend scrolling is inventory being sold to the highest bidder. Corporate social media has no interest in your family's welfare. Their interest is in maximising engagement, regardless of the cost to human connection.

Why Fines Won't Save Us

The EU and France have made headlines with their fines against social media companies. Hundreds of millions of euros in penalties. It sounds impressive. But I'm skeptical that this will change anything meaningful.

When your business model generates billions, a few hundred million in fines is simply a cost of doing business. It's a line item, not a deterrent. The fundamental incentive structure remains unchanged: engagement equals profit, regardless of the harm caused.

Regulatory action may help at the margins. But waiting for governments to solve this problem is, I believe, a mistake. By the time meaningful regulation arrives—if it ever does—another generation will have grown up with rewired brains and severed family bonds.

The responsibility falls on us. On parents. On families. On communities.

The Billionaire Takeover

The situation has become even more concerning with recent developments. In January 2026, TikTok's US operations were acquired by a consortium including Oracle, whose co-founder Larry Ellison is one of the world's wealthiest individuals and a major political donor. A platform used by 170 million Americans—including tens of millions of children—is now controlled by billionaire interests with their own agendas.

This is not about politics. This is about power. When a handful of ultra-wealthy individuals control the information channels through which an entire generation experiences reality, we have ceded something fundamental about democratic society.

The algorithm that determines what your teenager sees, what beliefs they form, what anxieties they develop—this algorithm is now controlled by people whose interests have nothing to do with your family's wellbeing.

A Word About Our Daughters

I need to address something directly. I'm the father of three daughters and two sons. I love all five of my children equally. But I have to be honest about what the evidence shows.

Social media platforms do not affect all users equally. They target young girls by design. This is not an accident or an unfortunate side effect. It is the result of deliberate product decisions.

The emphasis on appearance, on social comparison, on curated perfection—these features were engineered knowing full well their impact on adolescent girls. Internal research at these companies documented the harm. They published it anyway. They chose profit over children's mental health.

The statistics are damning. Rates of depression, anxiety, self-harm, and suicidal ideation among teenage girls have increased dramatically since 2012—the year social media became ubiquitous on smartphones. This is not correlation. Multiple studies have established clear causal links.

Our daughters are being specifically targeted by systems designed to make them feel inadequate, to create insecurity, to generate engagement through dissatisfaction. We didn't lose our daughters to the internet. We handed them over.

The Phone as Rite of Passage

I hold what some may consider a radical position: children should not have smartphones with social media access until they are 15 or 16 years old.

The phone should be a rite of passage—a meaningful milestone that marks the transition toward adulthood. It should be presented with ceremony, with conversation, with clear expectations about responsible use. It should be a privilege earned through demonstrated maturity, not a default granted to increasingly younger children because “everyone else has one.”

This is not about being controlling. It is about recognising that developing brains are not equipped to resist manipulation systems designed by teams of engineers and psychologists specifically to be irresistible. We do not give children access to gambling, alcohol, or other addictive substances. Why do we give them unrestricted access to platforms that use identical psychological mechanisms?

Consider this inversion: the addict doesn't struggle to use—they struggle to stop. For most of us now, putting down the phone has become the act of willpower, not picking it up. That should tell us something about where we are.

The argument that children “need” phones for safety is easily addressed with basic mobile devices that allow calls and texts without the Pandora's box of social media and infinite content.

What We Actually Do in Our Family

I want to share what we've tried in our household. Not because we have it figured out—we absolutely do not—but because I think sharing practical approaches might help others.

For shorts content specifically, we've established a rough guideline: twenty minutes maximum, then at least a fifteen-minute break. Not because this is some magic number, but because we've noticed the glazed-over look that sets in after sustained exposure. The break gives the brain a chance to reset.

More importantly, we try to involve the children in these decisions. Rather than imposing rules from above, we discuss why we're concerned. We talk about what the apps are designed to do. We make it a conversation, not a punishment. Some days this works better than others.

We also try to model better behaviour ourselves—though, as I mentioned, I fail at this regularly. When I catch myself reaching for my phone during family time, I try to acknowledge it out loud. “I'm doing it again.” It's become a kind of family shorthand, a way of holding each other accountable without judgment.

The Role of Schools

Schools must become partners in this effort, not passive observers.

I envision schools hosting regular “digital wellness” coffee mornings—spaces where parents can gather to discuss, openly and without judgment, the challenges they face. Where strategies can be shared. Where the isolation of struggling alone with these issues can be replaced by community support.

These conversations are difficult. They require admitting that we, as parents, are often as addicted as our children. That we model the very behaviours we criticise. That our own relationship with technology is frequently unhealthy. The child who can't put down their phone learned it from someone. Usually, that someone was us.

But difficult conversations, had in supportive environments, are precisely what is needed. Schools can provide that environment. They can bring families together around this shared challenge. They can be part of the solution rather than simply another institution asking children to put their phones in lockers.

Signs of Resistance

There are reasons for hope. A pushback is beginning.

UpScrolled, an app created by Palestinian-Jordanian-Australian developer Issam Hijazi, has surged to the top of app store charts in early 2026. Its premise is simple but revolutionary: no algorithmic manipulation, no shadowbanning, no pay-to-play favouritism. Every voice gets equal power.

The platform's sudden popularity—over a million new users in just days—demonstrates that people are hungry for alternatives to corporate social media. They recognise that the current model is broken. They want something different.

UpScrolled and platforms like it represent what social media could be: tools for genuine connection rather than attention extraction. Spaces where content reaches people based on relevance and relationship, not algorithmic manipulation.

The Other Side: Technology's Incredible Potential

I want to be clear about something: I am not anti-technology. I repair technology for a living. I've been in this industry since 1999. I've seen devices evolve from basic mobile phones to the extraordinary machines we carry today.

The smartphone in your pocket contains the sum of human knowledge on a silicon wafer. That's not hyperbole—it's literally true. Every book ever written, every scientific paper, every piece of music, every work of art, every language, every recipe, every map. All of it, accessible in seconds.

This is miraculous. It is one of humanity's greatest achievements. And it can be used for extraordinary good—for education, for connection across distances, for access to opportunities that previous generations could never have imagined.

The problem is not the technology itself. The problem is the business model that has been layered on top of it—a model that treats human attention as a commodity and optimises for extraction rather than enrichment.

We can use these devices positively. We can teach our children to use them as tools for learning, for creativity, for genuine connection. But doing so requires intention. It requires swimming against a very powerful current. And it requires becoming the kind of person who uses technology deliberately—not the kind of person who is used by it.

What Success Actually Looks Like

I want to end this first part with a word about expectations.

Success is not going from eight hours of screen time to zero. That's not realistic for most of us, and honestly, it's probably not even desirable. We live in a connected world. These devices are tools we use for work, for staying in touch with family, for accessing information we need.

Success is improving by five percent. By ten percent. It's having one more genuine conversation with your children this week than last week. It's noticing when you're reaching for your phone out of habit rather than need. It's creating one device-free hour a day, then maybe two.

Small, sustainable changes. That's what we're aiming for. Do not take this lightly: five percent better is still better. And five percent compounds.

I'm not here to lecture. I'm here to think through this problem alongside other parents who are struggling with the same issues. I ran a technology repair business in Kings Heath, Birmingham for many years before stepping away in 2023. celltech has recently come back, and with it, my engagement with these questions has deepened. I've seen thousands of families over the years. I've watched this transformation unfold in real time.

And I've seen families who found their way through. Who established boundaries that worked for them. Who reclaimed their dinner tables and their car journeys and their Sunday afternoons. Who proved that the zombie family is a choice, not a fate.

Here is what I've observed about those families: nothing happens, then everything happens. They struggle for weeks, sometimes months. The new boundaries feel awkward. The children resist. The parents doubt themselves. And then—gradually, almost imperceptibly—something shifts. Conversations return. Eye contact increases. The family begins to feel like a family again.

The first few percent of improvement is the hardest. But it compounds. And eventually, staying present becomes easier than reaching for the phone. The identity shifts. You become the kind of family that talks at dinner. That's just who you are now.

Did You Know?

In Part 2: Practical strategies we've found helpful. What other families are doing. Specific approaches for different age groups. The ongoing conversation about living with technology rather than being consumed by it.

This is the beginning of a conversation, not the end of one. I don't have all the answers—I'm not sure anyone does. But I believe that by thinking through these issues together, by sharing what works and what doesn't, by being honest about our own struggles, we can find a better path forward.

Our children matter infinitely more than the latest celebrity snippet. Our family bonds matter infinitely more than advertiser revenue. Our shared humanity matters infinitely more than engagement metrics.

We just have to become the kind of people who act like it.

And that begins today.