Most nights, my evening begins the same way. The dishes sit in the sink. The laundry stays unfolded. The TV seemingly turns on by itself, filling the room with noise before I’ve really decided if that’s what I want.
“The TV seemingly turns on by itself, filling the room with noise before I’ve really decided if that’s what I want.”
Sometimes dinner arrives in a delivery bag; other nights, it’s cheese and crackers eaten straight from the package. Sometimes I pour a glass of wine before I even sit down. By the time it’s late enough that I should go to bed, I’m wired, and my mind is unsettled. The TV plays while I scroll on my phone or catch up on work. Screens are everywhere, and though I’m exhausted, it’s the only time I have for myself. It’s revenge bedtime procrastination at its finest.
As a new parent, I’m paying closer attention to moments like these. Becoming a mother has sharpened my awareness in ways I didn’t expect. I am more critical of how I move through the day and the energy in our own home. (Is it calming? Does it feel safe? Does it feel busy and stressful?) The evenings, I’m realizing, hold more power than I ever gave them credit for. They’re where habits quietly form, where the nervous system either settles or stays activated, and where tomorrow begins to take shape long before the alarm goes off. It’s also the only time I have to connect with my family.
I didn’t grow up with television as a constant presence. As a ‘90s kid, I didn’t have cable, and TV was a treat. My dad would record episodes of “American Idol” to watch after weeknight church services, and on Fridays, we had family movie night with homemade milkshakes. Television wasn’t background noise; it was communal, intentional, and limited. When the screen was on, it meant our family was spending time together. When it was off — well, it was off.
“Like for many of us, my relationship with TV shifted during the pandemic.”
Like for many of us, my relationship with TV shifted during the pandemic. Watching shows with my husband was a way to pass the time and decompress. We always had something queued up — one more episode to look forward to at the end of the day. A treat for making it through.
It felt connective and comforting, and it was also something we could talk about with family and friends. Why talk about our pandemic fears or the election when we could just recap Tiger King instead?
The truth is, television has served me deeply and meaningfully at different points in my life. During my third trimester, I watched every season of “Top Chef” while devouring boxed mac and cheese. During our infertility journey, I spent the holiday months watching cheesy Hallmark movies to escape my grief. When I want to feel close to my grandma, who passed away earlier this year, I watch reruns of Law & Order SVU, a show we used to watch together while eating KFC on TV trays. When I’m in need of creative inspiration but tired of reading, I turn on a favorite film and let myself be moved by beautiful storytelling.
“The truth is, television has served me deeply and meaningfully at different points in my life.”
These experiences matter and remind me that TV can be comforting and even healing. But I’ve also come to accept that not everything that feels comforting is something I need in unlimited quantities. And now, with a daughter watching us — even before she fully understands what she’s seeing — I feel more responsibility to examine what our evenings communicate about rest, connection, and presence.
The changes are small, but they feel significant. We now eat dinner by six and at the table, no less. (We still reserve takeout for the “today was impossible and I can’t function” nights or, of course, weekends.) After dinner, it’s a slow rhythm of bath time, ambient lights, soft music, and a bedtime book. These moments with our daughter feel grounding and connective.
“I’ve also come to accept that not everything that feels comforting is something I need in unlimited quantities.”
Then, I’ve been experimenting with how I spend the rest of the night. One surprisingly effective shift: When I choose to watch something, I do so on my laptop in bed. I find that when I do this, I’m more likely to close the computer when the episode ends. That small boundary creates space for the things I’ve realized I actually crave: conversation with my husband as we do turn down; an indulgent skincare routine; stretching; drinking water; reading until my eyes get heavy.
These routines don’t always look impressive from the outside, but they leave me feeling calmer and more cared for. They help my body recognize that it’s time to rest. And they make it easier to fall asleep without the restless buzzing that used to follow me into bed.
It’s not perfect. Some nights I still slip into old habits — just last night I found myself watching a few too many episodes of “Mormon Wives” before forcing myself to sleep. But the difference now is awareness. I’m making a choice instead of defaulting to old habits. I’m noticing how I feel afterward. And that consciousness alone has changed my relationship with my evenings.
“Reclaiming my evenings from the TV doesn’t mean giving it up entirely. It means using it with intention.”
Reclaiming my evenings from the TV doesn’t mean giving it up entirely. It means using it with intention. It means recognizing when a show truly nourishes me or when it simply fills time I might want to inhabit more fully. It means remembering that rest can look like conversation, quiet, ritual, or sleep — and sometimes, yes, a show that lets my husband and me laugh or cry together.
It comes down to presence. Presence with myself. Presence with my partner. Presence with the life we’re building and the habits we’re modeling for our daughter. And so, as of late, I’m trying to close the day a little more gently. To choose what I let in. To create routines that don’t just help me unwind, but help my family feel rested and help me feel like myself again. And I’m doing this both with and without the TV.
Kayti Christian is a Senior Content Strategist at The Good Trade. With an MFA in Nonfiction Creative Writing, her work has appeared in TODAY, Shondaland, and The New York Times. Since 2017, Kayti has been uncovering and reviewing the best sustainable home brands and wellness products. Her personal journey through four years of fertility treatments has inspired her to write extensively about women’s healthcare and reproductive access. Beyond her work at The Good Trade, Kayti is the creator of phone notes, a Substack newsletter with 7,000 subscribers, and the cohost of the FriedEggs Podcast, which delves into IVF and infertility.
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