When screens raise our sons

By now you’ve probably seen or at least heard of Adolescence – the new four-part ‘whydunnit’ Netflix series taking the small screen by storm. In equal parts brilliant and harrowing.

The acting is impressive. The commitment to character, the raw emotional landscape, the improvised lines that never once broke the immersive spell – all of it. And each episode filmed in one single, continuous take, beautifully choreographed alongside the camera crew like a fluid ballet recital.

Adolescence tackles some of the most urgent and unsettling themes of our time: misogyny, incels, the online 'manosphere', toxic masculinity (toxic being the operative word), and the devastating rise in violence against women and girls (VAWG). According to the Office for National Statistics, police in England and Wales recorded over 2.1 million incidents of domestic abuse in the year ending March 2023. These aren’t just numbers. They’re warning bells. And Adolescence rings them loud.

If some of those terms are unfamiliar and you're not quite sure what they mean – but want to understand what all the fuss is about – read on.

The story centres around 13-year-old Jamie Miller, arrested at dawn for the murder of his classmate, Katie Leonard. He’s marched from his home at gunpoint, and for the first three episodes, we’re desperate to believe in his innocence. But the cracks start to show. Jamie isn’t a one-dimensional villain; he’s just a boy caught in a terrifying storm of societal failure.

Jamie wasn’t bullied to the point of snapping. This isn’t that story. He was teased, yes. Bullied even. But notably he didn’t lash out at the boys who mocked him, nor his dad who didn’t understand him. He carried his shame and inadequacy inward, then weaponised it outward towards what he was being taught was the lesser sex by grown men whose warped ideologies echo through too many corners of the internet.

This isn’t an isolated story. Teenage boys are increasingly turning to violence when faced with rejection, ridicule, or wounded pride when instead they should be taught emotional resilience. Without this crucial guidance, they could be left to absorb toxic narratives online that validate—and even encourage—their rage.

Jamie isn’t a monster. He’s a mirror. At just 13, with loving parents and a decent school life, he was slowly radicalised by the ideology of the 'manosphere'. He became obsessed with ideas of dominance, sexual worth, and masculine identity before he even finished puberty. The term ‘incel’ – short for ‘involuntarily celibate’ – was thrown at him by classmates, exposing the absurdity of holding teenagers to adult sexual standards.

In the third episode, we see him in youth detention. A psychologist tries to peel back the layers. Jamie insists he isn’t gay. Invents stories. Wears his disinterest in football like a scar. He mutters that he’s “ugly” and repeatedly asks if the psychologist “likes” him. This is a child desperate for validation. For connection.

And it's not happening in dark internet forums anymore. It’s on their TikTok feeds. Instagram reels. YouTube shorts. All while parents remain oblivious, not by negligence, but by design. These platforms are built to exclude us.

The rise in youth violence mirrors the show’s release: sentencing statistics from the UK Ministry of Justice recorded over 18,000 knife-related crimes in one year alone. Nearly one in five offenders were aged between 10 and 17. In the same week Adolescence aired, a 15-year-old boy was convicted of the attempted murder of a 14-year-old girl with a samurai sword during a camping trip.

Jack Thorne, the show’s writer, recently voiced his support for a smartphone-free childhood, joining more than 100,000 parents who pledge to withhold smartphones until children are at least 14. And it’s not hard to see why. According to Ofcom, 91% of children in the UK own a smartphone by age 11. We’re handing children powerful tools without a manual. And their brains are not built to cope.

As a mother to a two-year-old boy and pregnant with my second son, this keeps me up at night. I want to raise kind, emotionally literate boys. Boys who will grow into men who value empathy over ego. Who understand that rejection isn’t a licence to lash out. But the world I’m raising them in is far from ideal.

The Metro recently asked teenagers what they thought of Adolescence. Their responses were raw, insightful, and sobering. One said: “It showed what could happen to someone if they're lonely and angry for too long.” They got it. They see it. Do we?

In a story that recently did the rounds on social media, a mum shared how her 13-year-old son, a gamer, slowly became hostile and aggressive. At first, it was subtle. Then, he started parroting misogynistic slurs and calling his mum a 'feminist' like it was an insult. His behaviour worsened until he had to be removed from school.

In another heartbreaking story, one mum gave her 12-year-old daughter a phone for safety and connection. Two years later, she watched it unravel the girl she used to know. Despite rules, contracts, and parental controls, life got busy—and so did her daughter’s secret online relationship with a 16-year-old boy. It started with late-night messages and manipulative affection. It escalated into guilt trips, sexual pressure, and emotional withdrawal. “This boy didn’t just take up her time,” the mum wrote, “he chipped away at her identity.”

The internet is a brilliant tool. But it’s also a breeding ground for toxicity. We must break the illusion that our children are safe just because they’re indoors. They’re not. They’re often alone in digital echo chambers we can’t see or hear.

And let’s dismantle the language while we’re at it. Teaching men to be men conjures images of strength and dominance. Teaching women to be women? Softness. Nurturing. Daintiness. That’s the problem. As @lalalaletmeexplain, a valuable resource on Instagram, puts it: “You can teach women to be women and men to be men without reinforcing harmful gender roles. Surely everyone should just be taught how to be decent citizens regardless of gender.”

So, what can we do about it?

Delay giving your child a smartphone for as long as possible

Keep devices out of bedrooms at night

Talk to them early and often about online content and its dangers

Teach them empathy and how to manage emotions

Watch shows like Adolescence together and use them as conversation starters

Stay curious, not judgmental. Ask, don’t assume.

We cannot allow our children to lock themselves away in their bedrooms at 13, only to emerge at 18, shaped by ideologies we never even saw coming.

Adolescence isn't fiction. It’s already happening. The show doesn't offer comfort, and neither should we—discomfort is where change begins.