It’s easy to tell someone to delete their Apple account and start from scratch when it’s not your digital life on the line. But for anyone faced with such a reset, it’s not just inconvenient—it’s traumatic. And that’s just as true for children.
That’s because for Apple users, an Apple ID is more than a login—it’s a tether to friends, games, music, and treasured memories. For Google or Microsoft users, it can be the similar. It’s the scaffolding of an ever-evolving, and increasingly important, digital identity. But under very specific circumstances, systems built to support, delight, and even protect families can become a trap. Parental control systems like Apple’s Family Sharing.
But let’s rewind a bit.
On paper, Family Sharing is one of Apple’s great wins. Launched in 2014, it was rolled out by Apple's head of software Craig Federighi as a kind of digital fridge door—an “easy way to share what’s important,” like calendar dates, photos, reminders, and even apps and media, with minimal fuss. For parents, there were other advantages too, like being able to track device locations, control how much time kids were looking at their screens, and what they were doing when they were. This was Apple at its most Apple: seamless and invisible when everything worked—a tidy blend of convenience and control.
Courtesy of Apple
Apple-y Families
But Family Sharing doesn't come without its issues. Kids under 13 must belong to a family group if they want an Apple Account. But they can’t leave of their own accord—and nor can older kids if Screen Time restrictions are in play. The entire model implicitly assumes a traditional family structure, where one adult, the “organizer,” controls the purse strings—and everything else.
This digital take on the nuclear family is neat, in theory—if culturally archaic. One person in charge (and one payment card) keeps things simple when everything’s rosy. Apple isn’t alone in this thinking. Parental controls like Google’s Family Link and Microsoft Family Safety operate under the same assumption: a benevolent head of household within a stable family dynamic. But not all families fit that mold, which is why these systems start to break down when families do, or when they merely stray from an “idealized” notion of family. The lack of dual-organizer roles, leaving other parents effectively as subordinate admins with more limited power, can prove limiting and frustrating in blended and shared households. And in darker scenarios, a single-organizer setup isn’t merely inconvenient—it can be dangerous.
Kate (name changed to protect her privacy and safety) knows this firsthand. When her marriage collapsed, she says, her now ex-husband, the designated organizer, essentially weaponized Family Sharing. He tracked their children’s locations, counted their screen minutes and demanded they account for them, and imposed draconian limits during Kate’s custody days while lifting them on his own. “Invasive and coercive” is how she describes it. When Kate moved the children away physically, she wanted to cut the digital cord too—but it wasn't that simple.
The Long Way Out
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