The S26 Ultra and the Fear of the Escape
I am currently typing this on a phone that is warming my palm, dreaming of a luxury I’m not sure I’ve earned. I have a confession: I want the Samsung S26 Ultra.
I want the crisp camera to capture the small details of my life. I want the tech that feels like a reward for the years I’ve spent on a device that is slowly showing its age. But as much as I want it, I am also afraid of it.
The Contentment Conflict
The truth is, my phone right now is fine. It works perfectly okay for the daily basics. I am grateful for it, and I don’t want to be a source of pressure or a bother.
Currently, the conversation in our home is a “back-and-forth.” My husband and I are weighing the options—deciding if now is the right time or if we should wait a little longer. I’ve always preferred for him to lead the way on these decisions, to be the one who finally says, “Okay, this device has served its purpose.” It isn’t a simple choice; it’s a careful balance of needs, wants, and the responsibility of managing a household of ten children where the list of “needs” is never-ending.
There is a silent weight in wanting something for yourself when you are the heart of a large family. Usually, my own “wants” sit at the very bottom of a list that includes school fees, new shoes, and groceries that disappear in a single afternoon. To move my own name toward the top—to say, “I want this high-end device”—feels like taking up space I’m not always sure I should claim.
The Anonymous Lens
People might ask: Why do I want such a powerful camera if I choose to remain anonymous and don’t even show my face online?
It is because the S26 isn’t for the world to see me. It is for me to see the Barakah in the dust motes dancing in the Sharjah sun, the steam rising from my afternoon tea, and the way the light hits my children’s messy curls. I want to see my life in high definition, to document the beauty of my “slow” days, even if the world never sees my face at all. The camera is my witness, not my stage.
The Digital Escape
But lately, there are signs that my current phone’s “purpose” is reaching its limit. The battery gets hot in my hand after just a few minutes of writing. I can feel the steady, pulsing heat through the case—a physical warning that the hardware is struggling to keep up with my thoughts.
In a way, it feels like my own body. Living with a chronic illness means my “spoons” are limited, and I often feel my own internal battery running warm, trying its best to stay “fine” when it really needs a rest.
On the days when my body is anchored to the sofa, my phone becomes my window to the world. But if I’m being honest? It’s also my escape. When reality gets too loud—when the kids are crying or my body is aching—the screen is a quiet, colorful place where I don’t have to feel my limitations. My fear is that with a phone this beautiful, I’ll use those 100x zoom lenses to distance myself even further from my own life.
Dignity vs. Discipline
I struggle with the “Dignity Debt.” I tell myself I haven’t “earned” a luxury because I had a “low-spoon” day where I didn’t finish the laundry or the dishes. But is it wrong to want a high-end tool? No. Is it a risk? Yes.
I realized today that the Barakah isn’t in the phone itself. It’s in how I use it. If I use it to build Barakah Roots and connect with my tribe, it’s a blessing. But if I use it to hide from my family and my reality, it’s a shackle.
Choosing the Middle Path
I’m still navigating this. I’m trying to believe I am worthy of nice things—even on the days I can barely finish a cup of tea. I might not have the S26 Ultra today. I am content with my warm battery and fading charge for now, trusting the timing of our home and the wisdom of the “back-and-forth.”
I want the tool. I just don’t want to lose the “Mama” in the process.
What do you think? Do you ever feel guilty for wanting a luxury when your “basic” version still works? How do you and your spouse decide when it’s finally time to move a “want” to the top of the family list?
