Evan McKay
Why screen time can affect an athlete's motivation, even after the screen goes off, and what parents and coaches can do about it.
You put your phone down and suddenly everything feels boring.
You're irritated, restless, and somehow not interested in doing anything, except picking the phone back up.
We often call this laziness. Sometimes we call it a bad attitude. But there may be something else going on.
The problem with excessive screen use isn't only that it takes up two hours that could have been spent doing something else. It's what those two hours can do to the way everything else feels afterward.
Even activities a kid normally enjoys can suddenly seem like work.
That doesn't mean the sport isn't fun or that they suddenly hate school. And it certainly doesn't mean every bad mood is caused by a screen.
But there is a transition that we often overlook: what happens in the minutes after the screen goes off?
That transition may be one of the most important parts of the entire screen-time conversation.
Dopamine is often described as the "happy chemical," but it's more complicated than that. It's heavily involved in wanting, anticipation, motivation, and the pursuit of rewards.
And digital platforms are extraordinarily good at keeping that pursuit going.
Scroll through short videos and there's always another one:
Play an online game and the same thing happens:
The screen keeps offering another opportunity for stimulation.
Unlike most things in ordinary life, there often isn't a natural stopping point:
Algorithms learn from every pause, swipe, replay, and click, becoming increasingly effective at answering one question: what might keep this person here a little longer?
No waiting. No boredom. No empty space.
Eventually, the device can become the default answer to every empty moment.
This is especially obvious with gaming.
Every sport has a stopping point:
There is a whistle or some kind of definitive endpoint. Online, there often isn't.
Stopping based on an outcome sounds reasonable, but it hands control of the stopping point to an activity designed to keep you engaged.
That's why "just stop" can sometimes be much harder than it sounds.
Imagine a teenager has been gaming for an hour.
At 4:30, the game ends. At 4:31: "Get your shoes on. We're leaving for practice."
Suddenly the kid seems irritated, tired, argumentative, and completely unmotivated.
The natural reaction is: "What's wrong with you?"
But let's consider what just happened.
One minute, the brain was immersed in rapid feedback, competition, novelty, rewards, sounds, movement, and constant stimulation.
The next minute:
Those environments are dramatically different.
And this is where kids, and adults, can experience what we call The Dip.
After a period of highly stimulating digital activity, ordinary activities can temporarily feel less stimulating by comparison.
Think about walking out of a two-hour concert: your ears have gotten accustomed to really loud music, and normal conversation can suddenly sound strangely quiet.
The contrast matters.
That's The Dip.
And importantly, The Dip is temporary. It's not necessarily an accurate measure of how much a child likes the activity they're about to do. It's a transition.
A teenager says: "I don't want to go to practice."
Sometimes that genuinely means: "I don't enjoy this sport anymore."
But often it means: "Right now, my brain would rather keep doing the thing that is giving me much more stimulation."
Those are very different feelings.
If we interpret every moment of resistance as evidence that a kid doesn't care about school, doesn't like their sport, or has lost motivation, we may draw the wrong conclusion.
Sometimes motivation comes after we start moving:
The motivation didn't come first. The action came first.
The goal isn't to eliminate screens. The goal is to become better at transitioning between digital stimulation and real life.
When you feel flat after putting the phone down, recognize what's happening: "This is just The Dip. It doesn't mean I'm actually unmotivated."
Instead of "I don't want to do anything," it becomes: "My brain is adjusting to a different level of stimulation."
You don't have to believe every feeling that shows up in the first few minutes after the screen goes off.
Don't say: "I'll stop after I win," "I'll stop after this game," "I'll stop after this level."
Instead: "I'm done at 4:30."
The stopping point exists before the activity begins.
When 4:30 arrives, you're done, whether you won, lost, or were halfway through the greatest comeback of your life.
One of the hardest transitions is going directly from a highly stimulating screen to a demanding task.
Create a short buffer instead:
Even ten minutes can give the brain a chance to shift gears.
You're not avoiding the next activity. You're transitioning into it.
Willpower sounds great, but distance often works better.
If your phone is sitting next to you, you have to repeatedly decide not to pick it up. If it's in your backpack, across the room, or charging somewhere else, that decision becomes much easier.
During homework, put it somewhere you can't casually reach it. At night, charge it outside the bedroom if possible.
Don't ask a 14-year-old to repeatedly win a battle against a device engineered to capture attention. Change the environment instead.
The screen-time conversation often becomes a debate about numbers: "How many hours were you on your phone?" "How long were you gaming?"
Those questions matter.
But there's another question that may be just as important: what happens when the screen comes off?
Watch the transition:
If so, don't automatically interpret it as laziness or a character problem. Help them understand what's happening.
Rather than: "You're addicted to that stupid phone."
Try: "Your brain reacts differently to digital stimulation (screens) than it does to activities off screen. Give yourself some time, or this transition activity, to adjust."
That's a very different conversation.
Not every bad mood is caused by screen use. Not every child who doesn't want to go to practice is experiencing The Dip.
Persistent changes in mood, motivation, sleep, school performance, or enjoyment of activities deserve attention beyond simply blaming the phone.
The point isn't to explain everything with screen time. It's to recognize that the transition from a highly stimulating digital environment back into ordinary life can temporarily affect how ordinary life feels.
The goal isn't to raise kids who never use screens.
Screens are part of modern life:
The goal is to make sure the screen doesn't become the default source of stimulation, entertainment, and relief from boredom.
Kids need boredom. They need quiet. They need conversations that aren't optimized for engagement. They need practices that aren't instantly rewarding. They need homework that requires sustained effort.
They need to learn something incredibly important: not everything worthwhile is immediately stimulating.
Some of the most rewarding things in life, like sport, relationships, learning, creativity, and accomplishment, require us to push through those first few minutes when we'd rather do something easier or more exciting.
That's where motivation is built. Not by waiting for it. By doing the thing anyway.
So the next time your child puts down the phone and suddenly declares that practice is boring, homework is impossible, and there's "nothing to do"... maybe don't immediately argue.
Recognize the transition. Give them a little space. Let the stimulation come down. Get them moving.
And remember: The Dip isn't the destination. It's temporary. It's just the space between one activity and the next... a shift of mindset!