By Suzie Glassman
Like many parents in today’s digitally connected world, I wanted to stay connected with my son as he gained more independence. When he turned eleven, we got him a cell phone, primarily for practical reasons. He spent afternoons at the park or friends’ houses, and the ease of reaching him when it was time to come home was a huge relief. Truthfully, the constant requests for an iPhone also played a part in our decision.
Shortly after the purchase, driven by a desire for safety and connectivity, I subscribed to Life360 and installed it on his phone. Life360 markets itself as a tool to bring busy families closer, enabling better communication, awareness, and protection of loved ones. The promise was compelling.
Immediately, I was drawn into the app’s features. The satellite view allowed me to pinpoint my son’s location with incredible accuracy. I could track his travel speed and receive notifications whenever he arrived at or left a place. Within a short time, I found myself habitually checking the app, watching the small blue dot representing my child move across the digital map.
Initially, Life360 felt like a valuable asset. The thought that my son could never truly be lost or completely out of reach was comforting. The fear of the unknown, of potential dangers lurking, seemed to lessen. My mind even jumped ahead to his teenage years, envisioning a future where, with Life360, “he won’t get away with anything.” I explored the app’s features, imagining how it could prevent reckless driving and other teenage misadventures.
My own teenage years, however, offered a stark contrast to this constant surveillance. As a teen, I often bent the truth about my whereabouts and companions. Parties and unauthorized trips downtown were common, activities I definitely didn’t want my parents knowing about. During my senior year, a pager was my lifeline, allowing me to discreetly return calls from any payphone, evading caller ID and parental scrutiny. While perhaps rebellious, these were largely harmless teenage escapades. I was never in serious danger, and curfews were always respected.
But as months passed monitoring my son, a realization struck me. My own secrecy as a teenager stemmed from a lack of trust. Because I didn’t believe my parents would allow me the freedom I desired, I resorted to hiding and shutting them out of my world. Honest conversations became difficult, as transparency would mean revealing truths I wanted to conceal. This was not the relationship I wanted with my son. I yearned for him to confide in me, not out of obligation enforced by a surveillance app, but because he genuinely wanted to share his life with me.
The turning point came one evening when I asked my son about his plans. His curt reply, “Just open Life360,” was a cold awakening. He had never explicitly complained about being tracked, but his resentment was palpable. I understood then that trust cannot be built on a foundation of control and surveillance. Mutual respect and open communication were being undermined by this very app.
The Safety Question: Is it Real or Perceived?
Deleting the app immediately was not an easy decision. The ingrained fear for my child’s safety, a fear amplified by years of “stranger danger” narratives and milk carton photos of missing children, was hard to shake. Many parents in their forties, myself included, have grown up with these anxieties, and apps like Life360 can feel like a necessary tool to manage these fears.
The idea that knowing my son’s exact location would somehow prevent a tragedy, like a stranger abduction, was a powerful, albeit irrational, pull. However, statistics from the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children (NCMEC) reveal a different reality. Stranger abductions are incredibly rare. The vast majority of missing children are runaways, and in such cases, it’s highly likely they’ve intentionally left their phones behind.
In reality, surveillance apps might inadvertently create new risks. Teenagers, seeking to regain their privacy, might engage in riskier behaviors to circumvent tracking. My son, for example, could easily leave his phone at a designated location while going elsewhere. This would not only defeat the purpose of the app but also leave him without a phone if he needed to contact us in an emergency, such as using our pre-arranged “come pick me up now” text code. Furthermore, tech-savvy teens can find online tutorials, even on platforms like TikTok, explaining how to manipulate phone settings to freeze their location on the app, rendering it useless.
Ultimately, Life360 provides only an illusion of control. If a car my son is in is speeding, I am powerless to stop it. If he’s injured away from home, the app won’t make me the first responder. No app can guarantee his safety. True safety comes from education, trust, and open lines of communication, not from constant digital surveillance.
Rebuilding Trust: Establishing Ground Rules
I recognize that many families find value in Life360 and appreciate its features. However, for our family, it became clear that it was not the right approach. We decided to uninstall the app and establish a new set of ground rules, built on trust and communication, not surveillance. To maintain his phone privileges, my son agreed to:
- Inform us of his whereabouts and communicate any changes in location via call or text.
- Always answer or respond promptly to our calls or texts.
- Keep his phone charged and accessible.
- Understand that in genuine emergencies, where we are unable to reach him, we may use “Find My iPhone” as a last resort to determine his location.
There are moments when I miss the simpler days of parenting, when a public tantrum at the store was the biggest challenge. Letting go and allowing my son to navigate the path toward independence and privacy is emotionally challenging. It feels like a constant series of small surrenders. However, I cannot ensure his safety by tightening my grip. Choosing to discontinue Life360 is my way of signaling to him that we are navigating these teenage years together, based on mutual respect and trust, not digital monitoring. It’s a step towards fostering a relationship where he chooses to share his life with me, not one where he feels compelled to hide it.
