When my friends and I walked into homeroom this year, we were greeted with a familiar request: "Put your phones in the black plastic box by the door." This wasn’t a new rule. In fact, it’s been a standing policy at my school for a while. Usually, though, by the third period of the first day, the box would be forgotten, left untouched as the week went on. But this year, things were different. The phone ban stayed—day after day.
Curious, I asked my Latin teacher why the sudden shift in enforcing the rule. The answer? A lot of the teachers had read Jonathan Haidt’s book The Anxious Generation, which delves into the mental health struggles that stem from growing up in the age of smartphones. For my teachers, this hit home hard. The message was clear: phones are making kids unhappy and unprepared for life, and something had to change.
The issue isn’t just within the walls of my school. Across the U.S., 72% of public high school teachers say that cell phone distractions are a big problem in class, according to the Pew Research Center. And enforcing phone policies isn’t easy. Even in schools with strict rules, 60% of teachers say it’s difficult to manage students’ phone use.
Around the country, states are starting to act. California, for example, passed a law requiring schools to regulate phone use, and other large districts have outright banned them during school hours. Internationally, places like England and Greece are also cracking down on phone use in schools.
I get it—phones are problematic. There’s no denying the negative impact they have on teens. Phones do make us miserable, and I appreciate that my school is trying to tackle the issue. But here’s the thing: it’s not enough. Simply locking up our phones during class doesn’t solve the problem because our entire world is built around our devices.
I got my first smartphone when I was 13, and it quickly became my go-to for killing time. I’d find myself doomscrolling, wasting hours on mindless apps, and feeling worse for it. The vicious cycle of scrolling, feeling guilty, and then scrolling more is hard to break. It’s nearly impossible not to compare myself to the polished images of strangers online, which only adds to the stress.
I finally deleted TikTok during my sophomore year—not because I was spending five hours a day on it, but because a friend of mine wouldn’t quit, and I wanted to prove I could. For weeks, I found myself absentmindedly clicking the empty spot where TikTok once was, only to be sent to my calculator app. Eventually, I felt better—less screen time meant more time for real-life hobbies like sewing and painting. But before long, I got sucked into Instagram reels, and the cycle continued.
I know Instagram isn’t great for me either. I catch myself thinking about how I’ll capture cute moments during my day for the 'Gram rather than enjoying those moments. It’s not just the fun stuff either—I can scroll through gruesome accident videos for far too long, which can’t be healthy.
Adults often offer the same advice: just delete the apps or give up your phone. But it’s not that simple. I need Instagram—not just for socializing but for school. Important announcements, sports schedules, school dances, and other events are often communicated through social media. If I didn’t have a phone, I’d miss out.
It’s not just Instagram, though. Group chats for classes, jobs, and extracurriculars are essential for staying in the loop. I used to work at a local job where the schedule and shift changes were communicated exclusively through text. Without a phone, I’d have been out of a job.
My school’s efforts don’t stop at phone bans. This year, they replaced our digital textbooks with physical ones, citing research that shows students focus better with real books. There was some grumbling about heavy backpacks, but most students have accepted it. For me, though, it’s just another reminder of how difficult it is to navigate school without a phone. Seniors don’t even have lockers, so where are we supposed to stash all these new heavy books?
The reality is, I’d love to give up my phone entirely, but the way the world is set up makes that impossible. We’re reliant on these devices for everything—from communication to schoolwork to jobs. Even while writing this essay, I was asked to research Haidt’s work on Instagram. Where did I go? My phone. Not using it for the 50 minutes I’m in class helps, but it doesn’t fix the larger issue.
So what’s the solution? I don’t know. I can’t even imagine what a phone-free high school would look like. But I do know that something needs to change. When I asked my mom how she and her friends managed in high school without smartphones, she laughed and said they used posters—actual posters, with glitter and markers, hung all over the school announcing events and meetings.
Maybe that’s part of the solution—going back to simpler, more tangible ways of communicating. It’s a small start, like switching to physical textbooks, but it could help reduce our reliance on phones. After all, the adults who grew up phone-free could probably teach us a thing or two about how to function without constantly being connected.
In the meantime, I’ve taken small steps to limit my screen time. I deleted TikTok, set a daily time limit for Instagram, and removed both Instagram and Snapchat from my home screen. These are tiny obstacles, but they help. Last week, my daily screen time was down to 55 minutes from the six hours it used to be. But without bigger changes from society as a whole, I’m not sure it’ll get any lower.
Takeaway: The phone ban in my classroom is a start, but there’s a long way to go in addressing the broader impact of smartphones on high school life. Maybe the solution lies in looking back at how things were before phones dominated our world.
