Inclusion, Individuality, and the Myths We Cling To Regarding Screen time.
All the way back, sayings like "one person’s pain is another person’s pleasure" or "one person’s trash is another’s treasure" to more contemporary versions like "don't yuck another person's yum" we’ve understood that what works for one person may not work for another. What one person likes may be a dislike for another. This understanding is especially important in a society which is growing to better accept disability, both visible and invisible and neurodivergence.
Neurodivergent people often have unique relationships to sensory input, routines, attention, and learning. These differences are not flaws—they are valid, functional, and often essential. And this truth shows up clearly in how people engage with the world around them: substances, environments, habits, and yes—screens.
Take food, for example. A peanut might be an easy snack for one person, but life-threatening for someone with an allergy. A piece of fruit might be refreshing—or it might cause serious issues for someone who can't process fructose. The differences aren’t about right or wrong, but about individual body systems and lived realities.
We see this elsewhere too:
One person can drink alcohol socially, without distress.
Another person—perhaps with a genetic predisposition, trauma history, or a nervous system that reacts differently—might need to avoid it completely.
That doesn't make one person better than the other. It makes them different. Validly, naturally, different.
Money and Difference. Money is another example:
Some people experience it as a simple tool.
Others, especially those with executive function differences or past financial trauma, experience money as a source of anxiety or struggle.
People with ADHD might navigate impulsive spending. People with autistic traits might engage in deep financial planning or find traditional financial systems trap them in dysfunctional loops. People with dyscalculia might need an automated system or one that has voice technology to ensure payments are correct. These are not moral issues. They are support needs.
And yet, even with all of this acknowledged in our society—peanut allergies, addiction, financial trauma—we rarely impose blanket rules.
No one insists that someone allergic to pineapple must still eat two serves of fruit. We don't insist that the person with low melanin in their skin sit out and "just get some sun."
We know better.
Image by jw210913 from Pixabay
So Why the Panic Around Screen Time?
So why is it that when we talk about screen time, we seem to throw all that common sense out the window? Why do we use it as a metric for judgement, shame, and fear?
In a world saturated with technology, why has screen use become the latest moral panic?
The harder question would be:
By encouraging avoidance and restriction in children, what are adults really avoiding?
Does this mean the conversations which take time and effort can be skipped?
Does this mean honesty and accountability within families and individuals can be deferred?
Does this mean people can delay learning the emotional regulation skills needed to have tough discussions or do discovery alongside their children?
What Is Screen Time, Really?
If we’re going to critique screen use, then we need to be honest about what we mean by it:
Every glance at a smartwatch that monitors heart rate or sleep. Isn't that screen time?
Every moment a GPS screen offers navigational support. Isn't that screen time?
The treadmill display? The podcast interface? Aren't these all screens?
These too are screens. And they often serve a purpose.
For many neurodivergent people, screens are not just entertainment. They can be a source of:
Sensory regulation
Deep interest engagement
Routine and structure
Connection, learning, and stimming
Companionship and not feeling alone
They are not inherently harmful. They are tools—tools that meet real, legitimate needs. And this is not limited to neurodivergent people.
From the electric blanket that turns off automatically, to the fuel pump screen that displays 32L—technology supports many of our modern routines.
The focus shouldn’t be on arbitrary time limits. Instead, let’s ask:
What does this screen use do for this person?
How does it help their brain, their nervous system, their energy, their emotional regulation?
What purpose does it fulfil?
And from there, support people to experiment and learn what works best for them.
Screens can be regulating, connective, or even life-saving.
Technology Is Already Helping
Screens and access to digital tools have brought economic, social, and medical benefits:
Being able to CC or BCC emails to avoid disruptive phone calls
Sending messages around family/work schedules
Schools communicating directly with parents via text or app
There may not be studies that show the economic impact of this shift—but ask any receptionist or working parent, and the answer is clear: it’s saving time, money, and stress.
Respecting Individual Needs
Inclusion means moving away from universal standards that pathologise difference.
It means:
Asking questions
Gaining mental strength and emotional maturity
Supporting discovery alongside instruction
Some people need constant visual input. Others need quiet. Some need screen-based transitions. Others find screens overstimulating.
All of these are valid.
There’s no such thing as "good" or "bad" screen use. There’s only what works best for that person in that moment.
It’s really not that different from people listening to music on a stereo system, through earphones, earbuds, or a small speaker clipped to their belt. Many people enjoy music while exercising, and there are countless examples of long-distance runners or solo swimmers who use playlists to maintain rhythm, pace, and motivation. Others prefer to listen to podcasts or audiobooks instead.
If it helps—what does it hurt?
The point is to support a person’s goal, whatever that may be, and to honour what helps them succeed or improve in a way that is meaningful to them—not to us.
That’s inclusion. That’s neurodiversity-affirming practice.
The Screen: A Portal, Not a Problem
We’ve feared every communication technology in history:
Here’s a blunt truth: a pencil was once considered groundbreaking technology. Eyeglasses were once thought magical. Electricity? People said it would kill us or drive us mad. And let’s not forget books—once upon a time, reading and writing were monitored and restricted just as obsessively as we see now with screen use.
If history is meant to teach us, can we learn from that? Can we recognise the same patterns when new tools emerge—and resist the urge to control, limit, and judge? All of these things were feared, controlled, and called evil. And yet, over time, we matured as a society and recognised their value. Surely, we can bring some of that same maturity to the topic of screens.
Because just like with literacy, technology offers access. It offers autonomy. It opens up ways of working, connecting, and creating that don’t rely on extracting every ounce of labour, sweat, or conformity from a person.
It’s been nearly a century since the most popularised version of screens ie. television entered homes. In that time, we’ve ridden the emotional rollercoaster that comes with all new tools—hope, fear, overexcitement, backlash. We’ve done this with books, with radio, with the internet. Fear and novelty always provoke moral panic.
This fear often lands hardest on the most marginalised—disabled, neurodivergent, or otherwise non-conforming individuals. Historically, tools of communication and information access were withheld from these groups. They were called dangerous, distracting, or unnatural.
Screens Bring Connection, Access, and Survival
Consider the late Stephen Hawking. For much of his adult life, he relied on constant access to technology—screens, voice synthesizers, and communication devices. His screen use was not only extensive but integral to his autonomy, creativity, relationships, and global contributions. No one would have dared to question the amount of time he spent using technology—because we understood that for him, it was a necessity, not a luxury. Essential, not optional.
And yet, before Hawking was globally recognised, he had a family and support system who ensured he had the confidence, skills, and tools to live fully. He was empowered to communicate, to choose, to create. That is the right of every person. We should not require brilliance or fame to grant people that right.
If the people who supported him had only worked within the limits of what was considered acceptable, typical, or even just readily available, his story—and his contributions—might never have unfolded the way they did. This is true not just for Hawking, but for thousands of others whose lives have been enriched and made possible by creativity, courage, and a willingness to lean into the discomfort of evolving tools.
Another powerful example is Helen Keller. Born both deaf and blind, Keller would likely have been institutionalised or lived in profound isolation if not for one individual—Anne Sullivan, her teacher—who refused to be constrained by what was socially acceptable or commonly available at the time. It was her mother's (Kate Keller) access to a book, and Anne Sullivan's belief in Keller's potential, that opened the door to her future. Without that courage to look beyond convention, Helen Keller might never have been empowered to communicate, connect, and thrive.
These stories remind us that progress rarely happens inside the lines of what is easy or expected. It happens when people are willing to challenge norms in order to honour human complexity.
Because let’s be honest: discovery is rarely comfortable but like puberty, it’s a part of change. Working things out is often frustrating, tedious, and draining. Personally, I avoid swapping phones or updating my computer because of the dread of the unknown changes, the temporary disorientation, the loss of features I’ve come to rely on. None of that is fun but we have a choice - to lean in or to resist.
We can’t expect ease without growth. We can’t protect people from change by denying them access to the tools that might help them adapt.
Who are we—who is anyone—to impose their idea of "normal" on someone whose inner world, body, or brain we barely understand? Especially when screens may be the very thing that allows them to thrive.
It’s worth remembering: reading and writing were once blamed for illness, madness, and moral decay. Literacy was hoarded by elites. Books were dangerous. The public was told: “It’s too risky to let people think independently.”
Let’s not repeat that pattern with screens.
Harnessing Risk Instead of Avoiding It
There are plenty of studies that show that long hours at the computer or on devices change our brain chemistry and can have physiological and neurological impacts. But don't we also have plenty of information which tells us:
That the human body cannot tolerate being in an organic fire for long periods of time?
That chemical fires and smoke inhalation can kill before a flame even touches the skin?
That humans rely on moisture and hydration to function effectively?
That more than a few minutes in fire conditions will have significant impacts on a person's body and brain—even if they survive?
We have known these risks for thousands of years—even before we had measuring tools and research papers to quantify them. And yet, humanity did not respond by banning access to fire. Instead, we found ways to live with it safely:
Capturing it
Harnessing it
Respond or extinguish it when possible
Using different fuels for different effects (imagine steam trains, rockets and a campfire)
Not only that—entire professions exist to engage with fire directly. Firefighters enter environments that put their lives and health at risk. But instead of avoiding fire entirely or enforcing limits such as "90 seconds, no more, do what you can and out you come!" they’re given:
Equipment to help reduce the intensity and exposure
Resources to help with managing the fire
Training and skills which mentally and physically enable quick efficient action and teamwork.
Repeated practice in controlled settings
They use gyms, ice baths, group routines, mental wellbeing supports, and simulate high-risk situations so they can build capacity and regulation before the moment of need.
Why don’t we apply the same logic to screens?
What if we offered:
Info sheets about manual lymphatic drainage to counteract extended screen time
Shared routines to support nervous system regulation
Team or family strategies for digital hygiene and reflection
Practical approaches to parenting in a pro-tech environment
We don’t need to fear the tools—we need to empower the people using them.
Where’s the Research?
There are hundreds or thousands of studies on screen harm.
But:
Where are the studies on autonomy, empowerment, and emotional regulation through screen access?
Where is the data on time saved, lives improved, or wellbeing preserved?
Why don't we scrutinise the amount of screen time averaged across successful or well known people's lives?
Research only tells us what’s been chosen to be studied. The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
Just like unrecorded species or undiscovered planets—some truths exist whether they’ve been measured or not.
Why This Is Neurodivergent-Affirming Practice
The most affirming thing we can do is:
Stop pathologising difference
Stop imposing shame
Stop generalising support
Screens are not a threat. They are tools.
Let’s meet each person where they’re at.
What is so simple, shouldn’t be so hard.
Let’s Stop Demonising Screens
If we want kids to learn:
They don’t need monitoring or moralising.
They need to see adults model regulation, being able to pause without irritation and show them stretching or moving as associated with their technology use.
People talking about the lymphatic system, nerve health and muscle care
They need to watch how people respond to stress, mistakes, and change.
Just like we learn to drive or speak our language—kids learn self-regulation by watching it in action.
So let’s stop fixating on children. Let’s start asking what we, the adults, still need to learn.
Let’s stop trying to squeeze people into boxes that were never made with them in mind.
Let’s not repeat that patterns that are formed on the foundation of fear. Can you know better and then practice better? Can you do it differently? Can you be the lead while others are working out their positions?
Let’s affirm difference. Let’s honour what regulation, joy, and safety look like for each individual—whether that involves a screen or not.
