On 'Adolescence' and what our kids are really starving for
We can blame social media, but responsibility begins with building relationships in real life.
I’m deviating a bit today—and will be for the next few weeks—so I can focus more fully on book writing. Hence, today’s post is a bit shorter and slightly off-topic, though not entirely. The themes in the Netflix series "Adolescence"—how social media distorts identity, feeds insecurity, and thrives in the absence of strong real-life connection—overlap in some ways with diet culture. (The pressure to conform to society's thin ideal often begins at home, shaped by well-intentioned but often harmful beliefs we've absorbed ourselves.)
No matter the topic, our kids are bombarded with millions of diverse and conflicting messages every day about who they should be and how they should act. And that’s where our presence matters. I wasn’t always as present with my children as I am now, something I deeply regret, but I can see the difference it’s made. Just being there (sometimes even when they don’t want me to be), curious about their world, and open to their thoughts, has brought us closer. It’s through that lens, of having been on both sides of present and less present, that I watched “Adolescence.”
I didn’t know the premise of the show when I started watching, just that people were buzzing about it, including my sister, who pretty much only watches true crime documentaries.
Then I caught the tail end of a recent Fresh Air interview with Stephen Graham, the actor who plays the father in the show and also co-created it. (He helped develop the series after hearing real-life accounts of male youth violence against girls.) His passion for the role (okay, plus the accent) and the way he described the emotional weight of the final bedroom scene is what pulled me in.
The show opens with a 13-year-old boy being arrested for the murder of a female classmate, and it gradually unpacks what led to the violence and what followed. The kids seem to know exactly what’s happened and why, but the adults are baffled. It quickly becomes clear the kids are speaking a language the adults don’t understand, one of online codes and social hierarchies.
Most of the discourse around this series has focused on the dangers of unmonitored access to social media and the spread of toxic masculinity and incel culture among youth. (“Incel” is a portmanteau of the words “involuntarily celibate.” It refers to a subculture of men who define themselves as unable to find romantic or sexual partners, and who blame, objectify, and sometimes harm women in retaliation.)
But what struck me most while watching wasn’t the online toxicity (though there’s plenty of that); it was the systemic misunderstanding and emotional disconnection of the adults in their kids’ lives. The parents, teachers, and even authorities seemed absent, overwhelmed, or unsure of how to reach them.
I read a post this week on social media from an adolescent psychologist responding to the show. She argued the real danger isn’t the toxic messages on social media—it’s the absence of real-life support. What makes kids vulnerable, she said, is a lack of strong attachment at home.
Instead of trying to shield our kids from every potential threat, she wrote, we should “focus on building their resilience, their confidence, their sense of belonging—especially at home.”
Hers is a sentiment I’ve come to hold over the past few years, as I’ve worked to build a better relationship with my kids—and, in particular, to model a healthier relationship with food and body acceptance. But in those early days of trying to show up differently for them, I worried it wouldn’t be enough.
I was underestimating the power I hold as a parent.
I can’t stop them from hearing the messages, but I’ve come to understand my words—and even more so, my actions—carry real weight. They can be enough of an anchor to steady them against the curated perfection or algorithm-fed “advice” they encounter online everyday.
I wasn’t thinking about any of this when I sat down to watch the first episode of “Adolescence” with my teenage daughter. I was simply looking for something we might both enjoy together. But after she went to bed, I kept watching. There’s a scene where the lead investigator visits his son’s school and later describes the chaos as a “holding pen,” not a place for learning. He questions a teacher about some online messages connected to the case, and she tells him she’s never heard the word “incel.”
That moment stopped me. I find it hard to believe a middle school teacher wouldn’t know the term, because I first heard about incel culture from my own kids. Surely, most teachers know about this, I thought. But it made me wonder: Is this how it is in some schools? Are some teachers really this out of touch? I stopped the episode and decided to wait to watch the rest with her, so we could talk about what felt real—and what didn’t.
“Adolescence” is bleak—but gripping. It raised questions for me as a parent. Am I doing enough? Can I do more? Of course, it’s not just on us parents to raise our kids. As Graham reminded me in that Fresh Air interview, it takes a village. And “within that kind of complexity... maybe we're all accountable.”
Now it’s your turn. What did "Adolescence" stir up for you? Did you watch it with your kids? Has it challenge you in any way? What kinds of conversations are you having with your own kids about social media and negative influences? Drop a comment or hit reply—I’d love to hear what you think.
P.S. – If this post resonated with you, would you consider restacking it and sharing it with your audience? 🔄