Recently, I had a chat with a friend who shared that her 10-year-old son has his own Instagram account. Given that we usually align on parenting views, I was taken aback. When I probed further, she reassured me that she has stringent rules and privacy settings in place to safeguard him. She mentioned discussing appropriate online behavior and fostering good judgment.
But here’s the thing: I firmly believe that kids under 13 shouldn’t be on social media. There, I said it.
Gone are the days when kids conversed face-to-face instead of through screens. As a mom of both a tween and a teenager, I understand the temptation to give in to the allure of platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I’ve had numerous discussions with my kids about online safety, texting etiquette, and the perils of platforms like YouTube (thank goodness Snapchat wasn’t around when I was in college!). I trust my kids, and I feel confident that when the time comes, they’ll navigate social media responsibly.
However, I’ve encountered many parents who disagree with my stance, arguing that social media, when monitored by parents, can be a valuable learning tool. They tell me, “Just follow him on Facebook!” or “I make sure she follows me so I can keep an eye on her.” Many insist that by restricting access, I’m denying my kids essential social experiences.
Sorry, but NOPE.
While I know I could tighten the reins on my kids’ accounts, I also recognize that I wouldn’t want them exposed to the adult content I share. I have no desire for my 10-year-old to stumble upon her friend’s mother’s vacation selfies or the questionable memes shared by my brother. Simply put, she’s too young for Facebook, and I refuse to let her engage with content I can’t control on platforms like Instagram.
As an adult, my social media presence includes swearing, inappropriate memes, and the occasional rant about parenting. I vent about my kids and post snarky comments. I share all sorts of things that would be totally inappropriate for a child’s eyes. I’m not about to censor my online behavior just to keep your kid from seeing my posts.
I’m not interested in accepting your child’s friend request to help you monitor their online activities. And let’s be honest, I really don’t want to be the one to inform you if your child is acting out online—that’s just awkward.
Can we all agree that I don’t need to involve myself in your kids’ social media lives?
I get it; I probably sound a bit overzealous, and I’m sure some of my friends are rolling their eyes. But I refuse to feel responsible for filtering my social media interactions so your child can enjoy their innocent childhood a little longer. I don’t want to be the reason your kid starts using bad language they picked up from my posts at the dinner table, nor do I want to worry about what I can and can’t share because of them.
In fact, my social media is my space. I share pictures of cocktails, and sometimes I’m the one looking a little tipsy in them. Do you really want to explain to your child why I’m dancing on the kitchen counter in a pink boa? Actually, don’t answer that. And please don’t lecture me on my choices either—my adult friends understand and are probably doing the same things (minus the counter dancing, of course).
I cherish my friendships with other adults and the connection we share through social media. Engaging with them about the ups and downs of parenting is a relief. I’ve built a platform around sharing my parenting experiences, and I’ve had to remind friends to keep their kids away from my accounts more than once. Sorry, kids, this isn’t a family-friendly show.
In summary, I’m all for keeping my online world separate from your child’s. I might not be able to enjoy bathroom privacy, but I sure can vent about it on Twitter without an audience of kids.
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