Blog

The first thing readers see when they open this book is a simple truth: it is normal for learners to panic.

That admission might land awkwardly if you’re already exhausted by teenagers who seem anxious about everything. As teachers, we know the irritation. A child says they’re anxious, victimised, or bullied, and the first internal response is rarely pure sympathy. There’s suspicion: Are you genuinely overwhelmed, or just too sensitive? Can’t you grow a thicker skin, toughen up, or simply grow up?

Unfortunately, that reaction piles another problem on top of the existing one. It doesn’t solve anything.

Let’s be clear. Anxiety is real. I suspect it is more prevalent now than before, but I also suspect we notice it more and name it more readily. It is part of the human condition. It is not going away. Modern life keeps widening the divides — the haves and have-nots pulling further apart into separate realities. A truly non-dualistic existence on this planet feels like a dream. The pressures are structural, relentless, and stacked.

So no, I’m not telling anyone to “just get over it” or pretend they’re unbreakable. I’m saying we must learn the skills. The tools exist. The know-how is available. Swallow the pride, talk to the teacher, sit down with a parent, and stop pretending you already know everything. You don’t. None of us do.

My plea, to boys and girls, parents and teachers alike, goes beyond any single book (though yes, I would love you to read this one). Stop pretending you’re fine when you’re not. If you don’t feel okay, talk to someone. The simple act of naming it often lightens the load immediately. Ask questions. Listen. The truth comes out in conversation, and with it comes usable advice.

Anxiety is not a personal failure or a sign of weakness. It is data. It signals that the current approach is not working. The solution is not denial or thicker skin alone. It is skill-building, honest dialogue, and practical systems that turn overwhelm into manageable steps.

That is what this book — and the broader work — is for. Not to shame the feeling, but to equip you to move through it. Let’s stop performing okay and start getting better at it. The skills are there. Use them.

Listen to them with care and an open mind and heart and say, “Let me listen to this older person.” Usually it’s an older person, not always, but listen to this person, listen and take in what they say. I promise you, before you know it, you’re going to feel better. You’re going to get a big hug. You’re going to have a sandwich or, if you’re lucky, something else that’s tasty, or you just get a smile, which is even better, and then you’re going to be fine.

Okay? You are going to be fine. Now forget about what I said. Go buy my book. Here’s the link:

https://pages.lourensbreytenbach.com/ssgg

When Screen Time Becomes a Family Sport

I can’t stand it when people talk politely about “managing screen time”, as if anyone is actually managing anything. In many homes, the children are not being managed at all. The screens are managing the house. The phone is in charge. The Wi-Fi is sacred. The charger is a family treasure. And when the data runs out, civilisation collapses in seven seconds.

I have seen children fight tooth and nail over five more minutes on a screen. Five minutes. You would think someone had switched off oxygen. “Where is my data?” “Why is the Wi-Fi off?” “What do you mean we are offline?” “What am I supposed to do now?” I don’t know. Look at a tree. Speak to a human. Notice the sky. Have one original thought near a kettle.

Of course screens are not evil. We all use them. Learning, work, creativity and communication happen online. But the problem is that the screen has stopped being a tool and has become the environment. Children are no longer just using devices; many are living inside them. That is where reason has to return.

Maybe we need screen-free Mondays. Maybe offline Fridays. Maybe one evening a week where every device goes into a basket like a tiny glowing prisoner. Maybe everyone should be forced to walk in the park — at gunpoint if necessary. I am joking. Mostly. But we cannot keep pretending that “screen time management” is working when one dead battery can destroy the mood of an entire household.

The real question is no longer, “How many hours should children be allowed online?” The real question is: can this child still be fully alive when the screen is off? Because if the answer is no, we do not have a screen-time problem. We have a life problem.

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start writing!