Don’t Snapchat My Kids and a Social Network of Busted Hearts
One of my boys is the self-taught king of electronics. He’s our in-house IT specialist. Ok, maybe he’s a hacker…
During the pandemic, electronics became both a curse and essential for online learning. I’ve always had mixed feelings about electronics, tablets, and social media, both for children, adults, and myself. After all, it was the iPad that basically taught my other son speech and phonics (and he is now a Duolingo master, thank you very much!).
During the pandemic, the kids received LAUSD email accounts with passwords so they could attend virtual school while grappling with the overwhelming anxiety of “When am I going back to school to see my new friends?” As we all know, what started out as “two weeks” dragged into years of school hell – Schoology, Zoom and those broken links, ClassDojo – driving parents to the brink of insanity. (No, I don’t want to do an occupational therapy assessment hand-over-hand using two phones via Zoom.)
One of my boys (the beloved hacker) mastered his boredom by working that system. In doing so, he figured out how to open several social media accounts, circumventing our home’s tight parental controls by using his school district email. The fact that a seven-year-old could do this became a significant point of discussion during our IEP meeting and due process—the district had inadvertently opened a gate we had tried to keep locked to preserve our children’s innocence.
“OMG! That’s so cool, Kat! He’s so genius, he could work for Apple one day—a real Rain Man in the making!” Now get off my lawn!
And then there’s the question – do my kids have phones? At this point in their lives, the answer is no. All things considered, their access to the internet needs to be monitored.
When I became homeward-bound, immersed in early intervention therapies—speech, occupational therapy, adaptive skills, physical and behavioral therapy, and crisis prevention—our home became a revolving door. As someone who’s naturally private and used to enjoying silence after a joy-filled 18-hour workday with 100+ cast and crew members and a head full of dialogue, this was a significant adjustment for me. And how about the kids? Couldn’t they just play?
Suddenly, I was spending hours with complete strangers in my home, providing intensive sessions for my twins. Parent participation—this mama’s participation—was crucial and truly game-changing for the kids. Once used to being on the coolest sets surrounded by fellow Gen X geniuses, I now found myself surrounded by Millennial and Gen Z specialists, or “Savants”, who taught me how to connect and navigate with my Gen Alpha children. These gifted therapists helped me turn the lights on with my children with communication, self-regulation, independence, safety, self-care, life skills, feeding skills, potty training – and literally making sure they didn’t run into the middle of the street.
Sometimes, after a big win in a session with the kids, I watched these superstar therapists crumble when they checked their phones and social media accounts. The vibe would shift—they’d check their phones and deflate over an Instagram like or comment… or lack, thereof. You see, social media was of zero concern in my life since I didn’t have it. I found myself trying to comfort them through their digital distress. Even my children noticed their addiction, sometimes giving them the genuine compliment they actually needed to hear – as if they knew…
Everyone knows I’m not on social media. Someone had tried to steal my identity during the height of “Cold Case” in a way that threatened my safety, making me feel iffy about putting myself out there in that way. Some fans connected too deeply with my character Lilly Rush, leading to interventions by authorities.
Also, I’m old school! I grew up before answering machines, back when my brother would hang up on a cute boy from school calling for me. If you had my number, it was because we exchanged phone numbers in person on a piece of scrap paper or napkin. I’m from an era where your worth was not determined by the amount of followers you had – talent got the job. I love the mystery of going to work, playing a role, and going home, connecting with audiences through storytelling.
And would a photo of my latte really be that groundbreaking?
Recently, “the hacker” told me that someone in the past had posted some selfies of her and my boys on Snapchat “just for my boyfriend.” When my son objected, saying, “I’m not supposed to be on social media, my mom wouldn’t like that,” she dismissed his concerns by saying, “Oh, it disappears.” (By the way – nothing on the internet ever really “disappears.”)
Yes, I was pissed. I praised him for maintaining his young boundaries at the time, but I was sad that he was just now old enough to inform me (also on his brother’s behalf) about the adult pulling my kids into her “selfie culture” against our privacy wishes. This is why our boys get photo approval for everything we post on The Savants. Just yesterday, my previously non-verbal child excitedly told me, “Mama, I just looked up TheSavants.com… it’s a real website! I love the memories there!”
A former beloved caregiver called me to invite me to her wedding livestream on social media. I begrudgingly downloaded that app, and for the first time, created my own–(I guess you call it?)–burner social media account. The wedding was extraordinary and all the love flowed from the posts leading up to and following the honeymoon. So I opened my mind up and decided to stay a minute.
The algorithm somehow brought me to the raw side of humanity and of course, the autism community, showing me parents crying out for connection, help, and resources in 90-second videos, sounding remarkably similar to the desperate texts I get from “a friend of a friend” on my phone when they hear how my boys are doing. These were my people, my true social network—not the bougie “regular” moms.
Only my children’s miraculous journey could bring me to social media. While I’ve witnessed the negative effects of social media on young caregivers and friends obsessing over profile pictures and likes, I’ve also seen its power to unite and support – wrapping their arms around an autistic adult spelling out what it means to “unmask” (stop hiding autistic traits to fit in socially) after a long, grueling day fixing devices at the Apple Genius Bar. Or when 45,000 comments flood in to support a mother dealing with an autistic “meltdown” after being asked to leave a public space, I see social media’s potential for good.
Our family’s journey with autism has evolved. Initially overwhelming, the diagnosis consumed our lives. I chose to stay present with my children rather than hand them off to a team and return to set, believing we could find our own normal. And we did – our own groove. How we eat, live, travel, play, laugh, learn, cry, celebrate milestones (many of which we were told would never happen)… That normalcy needed to establish itself before I could even consider social media.
Which brings us to the here and now. If a picture–or selfie–is worth a thousand words, then every post here at The Savants could be a novel. The Savants represents more than just another social media platform; it’s becoming a culture, a space where everyone has a place at the table. If you’re on this journey with us, we want to keep inspiring you and hearing your stories.
We’re scaling to create a social network that’s a snapshot of heartbreaks, love stories, and real connections, where you can find genuine comfort, community, and connection.
What’s your story? 👇
With love,
Kathryn Morris
Founder/CEO, The Savants