The Disappearing Skill of Starting

Last year, I completed a personal goal: writing a book about some of the research I’ve been doing on kids and technology.

I’d thought about writing this book for a long time. I’d plenty of ideas, notes, outlines, and half-formed concepts. What I didn’t have was a clear starting point.

So the project sat there as a vague “one day I’ll figure it out.” I’d think about it occasionally, imagine how it might come together, and then put it aside again, telling myself each time that I just needed to think about it a little longer.

Eventually I realized what I was really waiting for was to feel ready. I was waiting for the moment when I’d know exactly how the book should begin and where it should go.

The problem was that moment never came.

So finally I did something much simpler. I picked up the phone and called a publisher and made a pitch.

That conversation didn’t magically solve everything. But it did something more important: it forced the project to start moving forward.

Once something begins, momentum has a way of taking over.

Looking back, the hardest part of writing a book wasn’t the writing. It was the moment before it started, the moment when I didn’t yet know how it would work. Starting is often the hardest step.

Children encounter this moment all the time when they face a new task, a difficult problem, or an open-ended assignment. The question they face is the same one I faced with my book: “Where do I begin?”

Starting Is a Skill

Initiative is often assumed to be a personality trait. Some people are self-starters and others are not.

But starting is actually a skill that develops over time through repeated experience.

Beginning a task requires tolerating uncertainty long enough to try something, even when you're not sure it will work. It means generating possible next steps on your own, and persisting until momentum has a chance to develop.

These abilities are rarely taught explicitly. More often, they develop through everyday practice.

For generations, children practiced starting constantly without anyone intentionally designing it that way. They got bored, and their boredom forced a decision.

What could I do?
What should I try?
How could I solve this problem?

Those moments of uncertainty pushed children toward action.

They invented games, explored outside, built things, and experimented with ideas that sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t.

Boredom wasn’t just empty time.

It was the starting point for initiative.

When the Prompt Disappears

As I've been exploring in recent writing, many of these moments of uncertainty are interrupted before they even have a chance to begin.

My hesitation with the book wasn't a lack of knowledge; it was a temporary loss of the 'starting' muscle. But as an adult, I had decades of previous 'starts' to fall back on. Times I’d navigated boredom or uncertainty before. Today’s children, however, are growing up in an environment where those rehearsal opportunities are being bypassed by design. We are moving from a world where we had to generate our own momentum to one where momentum is constantly provided for us.

Phones, videos, games, and algorithmically selected streams of content provide instant stimulation. The environment supplies something to do before the mind has to generate it on its own. 

Boredom created internal pressure that pushed children toward action, just as hunger cues us to find food. That pressure is what made it generative. When stimulation is always available, that pressure never builds. Over time, this subtly changes behavior. When technology removes that uncertainty instantly, the brain never learns how to regulate the discomfort of a blank slate.

Children spend less time initiating activity and more time responding to stimulation that arrives from outside. This doesn’t mean children today are less capable or less motivated. But it does mean they are growing up in environments where the skill of starting is practiced less often. 

What Teachers Are Seeing

A teacher raised an important concern after I spoke recently about allowing students to sit with challenges for a bit before jumping in to help.

He said that in his classroom—especially in math—when he does that, some students simply sit there and do nothing.

They don’t attempt the problem.
They don’t try a strategy.

They just wait.

At first glance, that might look like a lack of motivation or willingness to exert effort. But it may actually reflect something else. The teacher described a heavy, expectant silence. It wasn’t the silence of deep through, but the silence of a passenger waiting for a driver to start the car. When he resisted the urge to provide the first step, the students didn’t eventually start moving on their own; they just sat there. This suggests that the issue isn't a lack of math ability, but a starting reflex that has gone dormant because the expected prompt, usually in the form of a screen or specific instruction, is missing.

Productive struggle only works when children have experience starting.

If students have regularly practiced asking themselves questions like “What could I try?”, then sitting with a difficult problem usually leads to experimentation. But if that habit hasn’t been practiced as often, moments of uncertainty can trigger a different response: waiting.

In other words, the issue isn’t simply tolerance for difficulty. It’s the skill of initiating action when the path forward isn’t obvious.

The First Step Matters

Once someone begins a task, momentum often helps push things forward.

But the moment before that when the next step is unclear can feel uncomfortable. It’s easier to delay, distract ourselves, or wait for direction than it is to try something that might not work.

Historically, children encountered that moment frequently. Long afternoons, quiet car rides, and unstructured time forced them to figure out what to do next. Those moments acted as rehearsal for initiative. 

Today, many of those rehearsal opportunities have disappeared. So when a student sits in front of a math problem and doesn’t begin, it may not be a lack of ability. It may simply be that the skill of starting hasn’t been practiced as often.

Rebuilding the Habit of Starting

Rebuilding the habit of starting doesn’t mean removing technology or trying to recreate childhood from decades ago. But it may mean paying closer attention to the small moments where initiative develops.

Children need low-stakes chances to resolve their own boredom, to experiment with ideas that might not pan out, and to decide what to do next without being handed the answer. Teachers and parents can support this process not by leaving children alone with difficulty, but by helping them practice the act of beginning.

Sometimes the most helpful question isn’t:

“Do you understand the problem?”

It’s:

“What’s one thing you could try first?”

It's worth asking: when did you last sit with an uncertain beginning and resist the urge to fill it? That discomfort that leads many of us to reach for our phones to avoid might be exactly what we should be protecting in children's lives.

When I finally picked up the phone and called that publisher, I didn't know how the book would turn out. I still don't think I was ready. But the call made it real and real things have a way of moving forward. That's what we want for children too. Not certainty before they begin. Just enough courage to make the call.

What To Do When Your Child Is Stuck on Their Phone, and You’re Out of Answers

If you're a parent of a child or teenager, this scene may be familiar. 

You ask them to put their phone down.
They refuse.
You ask again.
They sigh, snap, argue, or shut down.
You take it away, or threaten to.
They blow up.

You see tears, anger, silence, and accusations that you “don’t understand.” When this happens repeatedly, it stops feeling like trying to set limits. It starts to feel like a battle. Many parents are left wondering whether they are being too strict, too permissive, or if it's simply too late to do anything.

In a recent post, I explained that many conversations about screens and AI focus on the wrong thing. We tend to treat technology as an object to manage by counting minutes, debating content, or worrying about what screens are replacing. From a developmental perspective, what matters more is what children are repeatedly practicing in these environments.

For many, this may make theoretical sense, but you may be asking yourself, how does it help me right now with the child in front of me who will not get off their phone and seems genuinely dysregulated?

Why “Just Take It Away” Often Makes Things Worse

When a child refuses to put down their phone, it is tempting to see the phone itself as the problem. From that perspective, the solution feels obvious. Remove the device, enforce the rule, regain control.

And sometimes that works briefly. Often it does not.

What many parents experience instead is that removing the device intensifies reactions. Distress does not subside; it escalates. The conflict becomes about much more than screen time.

This is not because the child is manipulative or defiant. And it is not because parents are doing something wrong. For many children, phones are no longer just a means of entertainment; they have become a coping mechanism.

Normal Does Not Mean Benign, But It Does Mean Explainable

These patterns are normal. They are an understandable response to environments designed to reduce discomfort and sustain anticipation.

But normal does not mean harmless.

When a phone becomes the default way a child regulates emotion, avoids effort, or manages uncertainty, it also means those capacities are not being practiced elsewhere. Over time, their phones become more necessary precisely because alternatives feel harder.

What Phones are Doing for Children

Digital environments don't just fill time. They shape learning through repeated patterns of relief, anticipation, and avoidance.

For many children, their phone becomes a powerful tool for managing internal states. It soothes boredom, anxiety, and emotional overload. It provides immediate exits from effort or uncertainty. It delivers a steady stream of notifications and possibilities.

When you remove the phone in these moments, you're not just taking away entertainment. You're removing their primary coping mechanism. That's why reactions can be so extreme.

Why Behavior Often Escalates Before It Improves

From a behavioral perspective, this reaction is not surprising. When a behavior has reliably worked in the past, for example, when picking up their phone has consistently reduced their boredom, anxiety, frustration, or uncertainty, and that behavior suddenly stops working, their brains start to panic. In learning theory, this pattern is referred to as an extinction burst.

Put simply, when an old strategy no longer produces relief, the nervous system escalates its efforts to get the same outcome. This escalation does not mean the behavior is becoming more entrenched. It means the nervous system is reacting to a mismatch between what it expects and what it is experiencing. The response intensifies because persistence has historically paid off.

For parents, this moment is often the most difficult. It feels like the limit itself is causing harm. But what the reaction is actually showing is how much regulatory work their phone has been doing and how little practice the child has had tolerating discomfort without it.

Escalation does not mean their phone is essential. It means their nervous system has not yet learned other, healthier ways of self-regulating.

Why This Reaction Makes Sense: A Familiar Analogy

It can help to step outside the parent-child dynamic for a moment and look at something we’ve all experienced.

Imagine putting money into a vending machine. You press the button, and nothing happens. Most people do not just give up and walk away immediately. They press the button again. They press harder. They may even shake the machine. The behavior escalates not because the person is irrational, but because their expectation has been violated. Based on prior experience, pressing the button should produce a result, and when it does not, the system responds by trying harder. If the machine continues not to respond, frustration increases, and the behavior becomes evenmore intense.

Children respond in much the same way.

When picking up a phone has reliably reduced discomfort in the past and suddenly does not work (or is unavailable), behavior becomes more urgent and more insistent. This does not happen because the child is trying to be difficult; it happens because the strategy that usually works has failed.

How This Connects Back to Scaffolding

Seen this way, escalation is not a sign that something is going wrong. It is a signal that the nervous system is trying to solve a problem using the only strategy it knows.

Just as you would not expect a vending machine to dispense a snack once it stops working, you cannot expect a child to suddenly regulate, persist, or tolerate discomfort without support when their default strategy has been removed.

Understanding this learning pattern does not mean parents should ignore distress or push through protests at all costs. The goal is not to outlast your child. The goal is to recognize that escalation provides information about where support, scaffolding, and practice are needed.

If distress becomes overwhelming or unsafe, the goal may need to shift from strict obedience to first rebuilding regulation. Capacity building cannot happen when a nervous system is overwhelmed. 

When This Approach Is Not Enough on Its Own

If your child’s distress is intense, persistent, or escalating to the point where daily functioning is breaking down, including sleep, school attendance, eating, safety, or relationships, this is not something to manage alone.

In those cases, phone struggles may be intertwined with anxiety, depression, ADHD, trauma, or other neurodevelopmental differences. Scaffolding and environmental shifts still matter, but they are not a substitute for professional assessment and support.

Seeking help is not a failure of parenting or of this approach. It is a recognition that some nervous systems need more support than families can provide on their own.

What Not to Focus on in the Moment

In the heat of these struggles, parents are often pulled toward instinctive responses. Escalating consequences. Arguing about screen time limits or labeling the behavior as addiction or disrespect. The problem with these responses is that they target the behavior without addressing the function.

A More Productive Shift: From Control to Capacity

This does not mean abandoning limits. It means shifting what the limits are for.

Instead of asking, “How do I get them off their phone?”
Try asking, “What is their phone doing for them that they do not yet know how to do without it?”

That question changes everything.

It moves the focus from winning a power struggle to identifying a skill gap, and from enforcing compliance to supporting development.

Instead of eliminating their phone use, the goal should be to make their phone less necessary over time.

What Scaffolding Can Look Like in Real Life

Consider a familiar situation.

A student comes home after a long day and is asked to start homework. Within minutes, she is on her phone. When a parent intervenes, she becomes irritable and insists she needs a break. Her phone gets taken away, but the distress escalates.

From a rule-based perspective, the question is whether her phone should be allowed.

From a capacity-based perspective, a different question emerges. “What is her phone helping her manage right now?”

In this moment, her phone may be doing several jobs at once: providing relief from cognitive fatigue, offering escape from uncertainty about where to begin, or supplying predictable engagement when effort feels hard.

Scaffolding does not mean giving her phone back; it means temporarily supporting the skill that is not yet strong enough to stand on its own.

That support might look like helping her identify the first small step, sitting nearby while she gets started, naming the discomfort out loud by saying “This feels hard to begin,” or creating a short, defined work period before any transition.

None of these moves eliminates the challenge; however, they reduce the load just enough for learning to begin.

Over time, the goal is to support the child until her phone becomes less necessary, not because it is forbidden, but because she has other ways to tolerate effort, uncertainty, and frustration.

The same pattern often appears outside academics.

A child may retreat into their phone after a difficult social interaction, an awkward lunch period, or feeling excluded by peers. In those moments, their phone provides distance from uncomfortable emotions and quick relief from social uncertainty. When their phone is removed, emotional intensity can spike.

Here, again, the focus should not just be on screen time. It is about slowly building tolerance for emotional discomfort and supporting regulation without immediate escape.

What Does This Change About Your Role as a Parent?

Seen this way, your job is not to be the screen police. It is to be a capacity builder.

That means paying attention to when and why phones become most problematic: transitions,  homework, social stress, unstructured time, or moments of uncertainty or effort.

It also means recognizing that distress during removal is not proof that limits are wrong. It is information about where support and practice are needed.

How this looks will vary by age. Younger children often need more external structure and co-regulation in the moment. Adolescents may benefit more from reflective conversations outside the heat of conflict. The principle remains the same. Build capacity at the edge of what the child can manage, not at the point of being overwhelmed.

This work is slow and often uncomfortable. But small shifts matter more than they might seem. A child who waits three minutes before reaching for their phone, or who tries homework for five minutes before needing a break, is practicing something new. Over time, these small gains can add up.

What You Might Try Today or This Week

If you are currently experiencing daily phone struggles, start small. Don’t try to fix everything at once, and don’t worry about perfection; shift the direction of learning.

1. You might begin by noticing before intervening. For a few days, just observe when phones become most problematic. 

2. You can name the feeling instead of focusing on behavior. Saying “This looks hard” or “That transition feels tough” often lowers intensity enough for learning to begin.

3. You could narrate your own struggles with discomfort and phone use. Modeling awareness ("I'm reaching for my phone because this feels hard") normalizes the pattern you're trying to change.

4. You might look for ways to reduce the emotional and/or cognitive load before reducing phone usage. Helping a child identify the first step, staying nearby briefly, or shortening the initial demand can make beginning a task more manageable. 

5. If patterns change, expect escalation and do not panic when it happens. Escalation does not mean you are failing. It means the system is adjusting to uncertainty. Hold steady through it; the intensity typically subsides within days to weeks as new patterns take hold.

6. For older children and teens, it can also help to share understanding directly. "Your brain has learned that your phone helps you feel better quickly. That's not wrong, it's just that we want to help your brain learn some other ways too, so you have more options." This isn't about convincing them their phone is bad. It's about building a shared understanding of how phones and brains interact.

7. Finally, think in terms of practice rather than outcomes. Instead of asking how long they spent on their phone, ask what they practiced today. 

You do not have to do this perfectly for it to help. Even small shifts can change learning over time. If you are parenting with a partner, it can help to share this framework explicitly so you are aligned on what you are building toward, even if you do not agree on every rule.

A Final Word of Reassurance

If you are dealing with a child who will not get off their phone and seems genuinely dysregulated, it does not mean you have failed. It does not mean the situation is hopeless. And it does not mean the only options are total restriction or total surrender.

Development remains plastic, especially during periods of active growth. Coping can be learned, regulation can be strengthened, and environments can be reshaped to support that process.

Remember: When you set a new limit and behavior gets worse before it gets better, you're not failing. You're watching an extinction burst, a normal part of how learning systems adjust to change.