Choosing presence over screens: Mothers

The other morning, I was on the Overground heading to Camden with my baby. It was a slow Saturday - one of those quiet stretches where the city feels softer. He was sitting in his pram, and I was on the seat next to him. We were just sharing the space - I was occasionally engaging with him, but mostly, he was content watching the train move and the people around us.

He’s nearly seven months old, a happy, chilled little guy who loves handing out smiles to anyone who’ll look his way. And while we sat there together, I looked around the carriage. Out of 14 people, 11 had their heads down, phones in hand, earphones in, scrolling. And I suddenly thought - this is what he’s seeing. Not in a judgmental way. Just… noticing.

That moment stirred something. What is he learning by watching the world? What habits are we passing down, even in silence?

Before becoming a mum, I’d started getting more intentional about my phone use. I’d gone through phases where I really tried not to pick it up the second I woke up. I’d wait until I was on the train heading to work before opening Instagram or replying to WhatsApp messages. I was trying to carve out space in the mornings - space to be with myself, instead of diving headfirst into notifications.

But still, like most people, when I was tired, overstimulated, or just bored (especially when travelling), the phone was the automatic thing to reach for.

And the thing is, our phones have become extensions of our lives. We use them for everything - checking emails (both personal and business), reading the news, checking the weather, Googling something random, keeping up with social media, and replying to group chats. They fill every pause. Every gap. Every moment we might otherwise be alone with our thoughts.

But since becoming a mum, I’ve become even more conscious. Conscious of how often I reach for it without meaning to. Conscious of what my baby is seeing when he looks up at me.

There have been so many moments now - breastfeeding, playing on the floor, walking with the pram - where I catch myself and wonder: am I really here with him? Or am I half-scrolling?

And honestly, yes - this has become a bit of a constant thought. Just one more thing added to the endless mental load of new motherhood. One more “Am I doing this right?” to carry around. Because, of course, I also want to stay connected to friends. I want to text back. I want to share photos with family. I want to feel like me, too. And often, my phone is where some of that lives.

But I also want him to see that it’s OK to just be. That we don’t need to fill every silence. That looking around a train carriage and watching people is enough. That presence doesn’t have to mean perfection, but it does require awareness.

This is something that also comes up a lot in my coaching sessions. Clients often tell me they’re frustrated with themselves - that they procrastinate, or can’t focus, or feel like they’re always distracted. They want to be more present. They want to follow through on things that matter. But there’s always something in the way.

And often, phones are part of the picture.

Procrastination is rarely about laziness. More often, it’s stress, decision fatigue, perfectionism, fear, or pressure. Our brains crave dopamine, and phones deliver it in fast, shiny doses. A scroll, a ping, a like, a quick search. And suddenly, another 15 minutes is gone.

We check our phones to escape something - boredom, discomfort, uncertainty. But we often end up feeling even more disconnected after we do.

And again, I’m not above this. I’m in it too. I still catch myself mid-scroll when I am meant to be doing something else. I still default to my phone when I’m overstimulated, touched out or need a minute. Especially now, in the long days of early motherhood.

But I’m trying. Trying to notice instead of numb. Trying to look up, especially when it counts. Trying to show my son what it looks like to be present, even if only in moments.

Because I think that’s where it starts. Not in grand declarations about “screen-free living” or deleting every app. But in small choices. In building that muscle of awareness. In remembering that the real moments are happening in front of us, not just through the glass of a screen.

That morning on the train reminded me that our babies are watching. But more than that - we’re watching, too. And maybe the kindest thing we can do for ourselves is to look up. To engage. To smile back. And to trust that being here, really here, is more than enough.

Written with one eye on my phone and the other on my baby boy, learning to look up more often.