This blog post is late. People have already moved on from the Netflix documentary Adolescence. We’re on to new things now—the end of White Lotus, anyone?
But I should have written this the moment I finished the documentary. I couldn’t. It was too hard.
I swallowed this show whole, in one acrid gulp. And while I made it to the end, I couldn’t write about it—especially not after that final episode. You know the one. The one about the parents.
For those who haven’t seen it, the series is split into four parts.
The first sets up the question: Did this kid really do it? He seems so normal. He seems just like my kid. But then you see the CCTV footage, and you know. He did it. It’s right there, on video.
The second episode zooms out to look at the environment—school, friends, teachers, systems that are overwhelmed and under-resourced. People phoning it in, because, well… kids are hard.
The third explores the inner psyche—psych evaluations, toxic masculinity, the slow, quiet radicalization that can happen online.
And the final one? The parents.
That’s the one that broke me.
Not just because of the story, but because they were trying. Really trying. And still, everything went sideways. That part—the “doing the best with what they knew” part—hit me the hardest.
I’m not a child psychologist. I’m just a parent standing shoulder to shoulder with you in this mess of social media, influencers, endless texts, and tech temptations.
And here’s the honest truth:
Yes, tech draws kids in.
Yes, their adolescent brains are still developing, making self-regulation hard.
And yes, they absolutely need our guidance.
But how we guide them? That’s everything.
So what can we actually do?
This isn’t a “just block it all” kind of post. You and I both know that doesn’t work. The answer isn’t banning—it’s coaching.
Here’s what I’m working on in my own home:
Respect the age ratings
Even if “everyone else is watching it,” you’re still the parent. Age ratings aren’t just about explicit content—they’re about emotional readiness. I wanted my 15-year-old to watch Adolescence and tell me what she thought. I really want my 18-year-old son to watch it. Because these are conversations we need to have. But not my 12 year old. She is not ready yet. We all talked about it though.
Teach them about the pull—don’t just warn them
Tech is designed to keep them scrolling, comparing, watching. It’s not about willpower—it’s about awareness. Help them name it:
“Wow, it’s so easy to lose an hour on Instagram without even realizing it.”
Get in the trenches
Ask who they follow. Why. What they love about those influencers. Don’t mock it—even if it seems silly. Be curious, not judgmental. When they feel heard instead of lectured, the door stays open.
Model real balance
This one stings a bit. Because it starts with us. Are we doom-scrolling? Constantly checking texts? Be honest: “I struggle with this too.” Let them see you set boundaries—phones down at dinner, notifications off after 9.
Stay present, even when they push you away
You’ll get eye-rolls. You’ll hear “I’m fine, Mom.” But don’t stop showing up. Keep the door open. Don’t underestimate the power of just being there.
Coach self-regulation
The goal isn’t to police every click—it’s to help them ask themselves:
– What makes me feel good online?
– What leaves me feeling worse?
– How much is enough?
Keep talking—about everything
Sexuality. Online cruelty. Influencer culture. The “highlight reel” effect. Group chats gone sideways. It’s all part of their world. Don’t wait for the perfect moment or perfect answers. Just talk. As my cousin Gail used to say, “Tell the Boogeyman stories.” Give them the worst-case scenarios—and the chance to talk about them.
Find your parent village
This is way too much to carry alone. Find your people. Compare notes—not to judge, but to survive. So many of you asked me what I thought about Adolescence. This is it.
I used to think if I taught my kids enough about tech and let them self-regulate, they’d make the right choices. And sometimes, they do. But sometimes, they don’t.
That’s where we come in—not as the rule police, but as the coach. The safe space. The steady hand.
If you feel like you’re already behind or worried you’ve messed it up—you haven’t. None of us are getting this perfectly. But our kids don’t need perfect. They need us.
They need us to keep showing up.
To stay in the conversation.
To believe they can learn to navigate this—with our help.
We can do this.
Not perfectly. But together.
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