RISING early at 4 a.m. brought me to Eid’l Adha prayers in the mountaintop town of Tangcal in Lanao del Norte. This season, many Muslim homes are once again preparing for prayer, sacrifice, food and family gatherings. The house slowly changes mood. There is cooking in the kitchen, children trying on new clothes, relatives calling from afar and parents preparing for one of the holiest days in our faith.
But as a Muslim woman and mother, I cannot help but quietly ask myself: Are our children still truly present during moments like these?
I look around today and see many children physically beside their families, yet emotionally somewhere else — lost inside phones, headphones, reels, games and endless scrolling. Even during holidays meant for reflection and togetherness, many young people now spend more time looking at screens than at the people who love them.
This worries me deeply.
There was a time when recreation meant playing outside until sunset, helping prepare food for Eid, listening to elders tell stories, visiting relatives or simply laughing together in one room. Free time had human warmth in it. Today, “free time” often means isolation disguised as entertainment.
As mothers, we begin to notice small changes. Children become restless more quickly. Conversations become shorter. Attention spans weaken. Some become anxious, withdrawn, easily angered or emotionally dependent on online validation. Many compare themselves endlessly to unrealistic lives they see on social media. Even very young children now carry burdens that previous generations never had to carry at such an early age.
Psychologists and child experts in meetings with Sen. Robinhood Padilla, proponent of child safety in media, continue to warn us that excessive social media exposure affects emotional regulation, sleep, confidence, focus and even a child’s sense of identity. But beyond the science, mothers can already feel it in their hearts. We feel when our children are drifting away emotionally, even while sitting beside us.
Eid’l Adha teaches us about sacrifice through the story of Prophet Ibrahim (AS). But perhaps in our generation, sacrifice also means learning to protect the emotional and spiritual well-being of our children in a world constantly fighting for their attention.
Maybe we need to sacrifice some distractions ourselves.
Maybe we need to put our own phones down more often. Maybe we need to reclaim the dining table, the sala, the prayer space and long conversations inside the home. Maybe our children do not need more content. Maybe they need more connection.
Children do not always remember expensive gifts or viral trends. They remember presence. They remember the feeling of safety. They remember who listened to them when they were afraid, confused or lonely.
This Eid’l Adha, I hope Muslim families — and all families — can rediscover the sacredness of time spent together. Not every quiet moment needs a screen. Not every silence must be filled with noise from the internet.
Sometimes, healing begins when a child feels seen by their parents again.
And perhaps one of the greatest acts of love today is protecting our children’s hearts before the world teaches them to harden too early.
