Why I don't bring my phone to dinner with my 12 year old
A note on boundaries, presence, and what it really means to share
I can see it – your collective *gasp face* that I don’t have my phone at dinner. The audacity!!! Well, actually, I’m sure some of you are thinking that it sounds quite nice.
And it is. It’s peaceful. I’m present. No emails to be done or calls to pick up. (Sorry, mum).
If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know that my phone is never far away. As a content creator, everything is potential content. The light falling through the kitchen window, the sizzle of oil hitting the pan, the steam rising off a miso broth, a beautifully presented plate of food; it’s my job (and my joy) to capture these moments. These are the details that make my work come alive. It’s beautiful, creative work, and I’m grateful for it every single day.
But a few years into this journey, something shifted.
I started to realise that my social media wasn’t just about me anymore. It might have started that way, sharing what I loved, what I was cooking, what I was discovering, but somewhere along the way, it became something much bigger. It became a space to be of service. To offer recipes and ideas that might solve a problem for someone. To create something that’s supposed to be shared in a way that feels generous (and sometimes performative).
And with that shift came a quiet, unexpected question: Do I need to share everything?
The answer is no. I’m sorry!
But the more I work in the world of digital content, the more I feel drawn to creating boundaries.
BOUNDARIES! Let’s talk about that. A therapist’s favourite word!! (And for good reason). What stays private and what do I give away? It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of capturing every lovely moment. But I’ve learned slowly, and with a bit of guilt at first, that not everything needs to be documented. Some things can just be… lived.
A holiday without a sunrise post. A lunch without a story. A walk home with no soundtrack or reel.
So that’s why I now have a no-phone rule at family mealtimes. That’s not just flipping them face-down on the table, but removing them completely. Out of sight and out of reach. We even try to gently encourage our guests to do the same. If anyone has been on my Retreats you will know.
And most recently that brings me to my daughter.
Over the past year, I’ve started taking her on regular mummy–daughter dates. Sometimes it’s dinner out, sometimes it’s just a juice stop or a shared pastry. Nothing extravagant. But I’ve made one quiet, deliberate decision around these moments:
I leave my phone behind. As in – not in my back pocket or zipped in my bag, but left at home.
I don’t say this to preach or to guilt anyone (heaven knows I’ve spent plenty of dinners distracted by DMs or mentally editing a caption or an email). I say this because it’s changed something for me and for her.
It’s the eye contact. The conversation that drifts into unexpected territory. The ability to sit in silence without scrolling. The message it sends her: you matter more than this device. This moment is ours.
As a mother, I’ve always tried to model presence but it’s hard in a world that rewards visibility, immediacy, and ‘the share’. These small dates, without distraction, have become a reminder of what presence really looks like in practice.
And if I’m being totally honest, it’s not just for her. It’s for me too.
I’ve needed the permission to not perform. To not turn every tender, personal moment into content. To reconnect with why I started this journey in the first place: to bring joy, nourishment, and simplicity to the table. And that begins at my own.
So, no, I don’t bring my phone to dinner with my daughter anymore.
Not because I’m perfect, or have it all figured out.
But because that boundary is soft, small, and consistent, and it’s helped me remember that not everything beautiful needs to be seen to be real.
Some things are just for us. And that is more than enough.
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With love,
Bettina x