I’ve been sitting with a question this week. Actually, since last week after I read James Abela’s article on ReadySetCompute. It’s a slightly uncomfortable one:
Is the way we use digital tools quietly shaping the way children expect to learn?
It came up again during a parent workshop I led recently at our school, focused on digital oversharing. We looked at how easy it is, almost accidentally, to blur the line between documenting childhood and performing it. Parents weren’t defensive; in fact, the conversations were honest and generous. But what stuck with me were the moments after the session; the staffroom chats, the reflective comments from colleagues and parents, all of which hinted at something deeper.
Then James Abela dropped his latest article on ReadySetCompute, and the puzzle pieces fell into place. His post, titled InstaJunk, explores how platforms like Instagram have rewired attention and gratification in teenagers. But as I read it, I couldn’t stop thinking: This doesn’t start in secondary school. This starts long before. Possibly even in the toddler years.
Before children ever sign up for TikTok or craft their first emoji-filled caption, they are already absorbing a very specific set of messages about technology:
- How it’s used
- What it offers
- And, crucially, how it should make them feel
James writes about the “slot machine in your pocket”; the addictive cycle of dopamine hits driven by notifications, likes, swipes, and pings. And yes, that’s something we’re seeing with teenagers. But are we really paying enough attention to how the foundation for this mindset is being laid in Early Years and Key Stage 1?
The Digital Pacifier and Beyond
In Early Years circles, we often talk about the “digital pacifier”: devices used to soothe, calm, or simply keep little ones occupied. I get it. I’ve been that adult too, looking around for something to help support our child or get a few minutes of peace. We see it everywhere now, on a plane, in a restaurant, in the queue at immigration, people left and right are pulling out a device just to buy a few moments of peace. Sometimes we need that breather. But we also need to be clear-eyed about what patterns we’re setting in motion.
It’s not just about screen time. It’s about screen expectation.
I’ve seen children as young as two instinctively swipe a book cover, or skip a YouTube Ad. I’ve watched five-year-olds grow visibly agitated if a video doesn’t load immediately. I’ve had to introduce “wait time” into our class tech use just to help students practise the dying art of patience.
We don’t just give them tech. We give them the experience that comes with it: the bright lights, the instant feedback, the short bursts of gratification. Swipe. Try again. Win a star. Watch a dancing cat. Level up. And when we don’t give them that, when something takes time or effort or doesn’t come with a reward, we see the shift in their attention, their frustration, even their confidence.
And here’s the thing: I catch myself doing it too.
Just now, as I’m writing this, a notification flashed up on my phone. It took all the discipline I could muster not to tap it. The irony of writing an article about distractions while actively fighting distraction is not lost on me!
And maybe part of that is because we’ve forgotten how to wait. Actually wait. Remember when downloading a single song on dial-up internet could take half a day? Or when you’d set a film to download and come back the next morning hoping it had finished (and hadn’t crashed at 98%)? That sense of anticipation, the delayed gratification. Those things have slowly disappeared. Today, if a webpage doesn’t load in under two seconds, we’re gone. Pingdom’s study showed that a mere one-second delay in page load time can increase bounce rates by 38%. That’s how allergic we’ve become to pause.
And our kids are watching. They’re absorbing. If adults tap away impatiently or abandon anything that isn’t immediate, what are we teaching them about patience? About perseverance? About the value of sitting with challenge or uncertainty?
This is the environment we’re all in; children and adults alike. But children are soaking it up like sponges. And it’s shaping how they experience the world, especially the learning world.
Performing Learning vs. Experiencing It
Something else we discussed during the workshop was how our own digital behaviours are part of this picture. Particularly the urge to document, capture, and share. How many times have we interrupted an activity just to take a picture of it? How often do we post something for others before reflecting on what it meant for the child?
Let’s be honest; there’s a quiet satisfaction in crafting that perfect caption about your child’s painting, or classroom role-play, or robot made from cereal boxes and tap. And I’m not immune to it. I’ve stopped activities mid-flow to grab a photo for a blog post, work book, or school display. But then the activity ends up being about the photo, not the learning. The sharing takes over the doing.
One parent in our workshop said something I won’t forget:
“Sometimes I feel like I’m watching my child’s life through my phone, even when I’m with them.”
That really stuck. Because it’s not just about how we use tech. It’s about what we model. If children see adults constantly filming, uploading, swiping, and seeking instant feedback (likes, reactions, replies), how could they not develop the same habits? We teach what we model, even when we don’t mean to.
Instant Isn’t the Enemy. But It’s Not the Goal
To be clear, this isn’t a call to reject digital tools. I love EdTech. I run a channel dedicated to it! I’ve seen devices unlock creativity, accessibility, and confidence for children who might otherwise struggle. The right digital experiences, when chosen and scaffolded well, are powerful.
But I think we have to be more intentional. Especially in the early and primary years. Not every app that sings and sparkles is pedagogically sound. Not every “gamified” learning moment leads to deeper understanding. And not every shiny tool deserves a place in a young child’s developmental diet.
We need to stop asking:
“Will this engage them?”
And start asking:
“Will this help them learn to sit with wonder, curiosity, or challenge, even when it’s slow?”
Because here’s the long-term cost: If we only ever offer fast, fun, friction-free digital experiences in early childhood, we may be raising learners who expect all learning to feel that way. And when it doesn’t? They disengage. They give up. Or worse… they assume they’re not good at it.
But learning isn’t always flashy. It’s messy, slow, joyful, frustrating, and complex. It happens in the pauses, the grappling, the boredom, the backtracking, the quiet realisations. And we owe it to our children to protect that space and to not fill every silence with a digital ping.
What Can We Do?
Here are a few things I’m thinking more intentionally about and inviting others to reflect on, too:
- Audit your own tech habits. Are you modelling curiosity or consumption? Can you narrate your screen use so it’s visible and purposeful to children?
- Design with downtime. Not every moment needs stimulation. Build in “tech off” time in class, and celebrate it.
- Choose process over product. Avoid apps that reward speed or correctness only. Look for tools that celebrate thinking, questioning, and creativity.
- Challenge performative posting. In both home and school life, ask: Is this moment for sharing… or just for being in?
- Talk to children about it. Even at a young age, they can start to reflect. “Why do you like this app?” “What happens when it ends?” “Does it help you think?”
So yes, James’s InstaJunk may have been aimed at older learners, but the roots of this conversation run much deeper.
In our homes. In our classrooms. In our pockets.
Let’s not panic. But let’s not ignore it either.
Because whether we like it or not, the way we use digital tools is quietly, constantly shaping how children expect the world, and learning to feel.
And if we want to raise learners who can tolerate struggle, savour slow thinking, and embrace wonder… we need to model that ourselves.
Even if it means putting the phone down mid-caption.