by Leona Bishop
If you’ve seen the new Netflix series Adolescence, you know it’s not an easy watch. It’s raw, unsettling and deeply relevant. It shines a harsh light on a reality too many adults would rather not see: how young people are being shaped by forces we don’t fully understand, often without the guidance or protection they need.
This is not just a show about parenting. It’s a wake-up call for anyone who has a social responsibility role: teachers, coaches, youth workers, policymakers, mentors... It asks an urgent question:
Are we really paying attention?
Because if we’re not, the consequences are far greater than we’d like to admit.
One of the most disturbing aspects of Adolescence is how gradually things unravel. There’s no single moment where everything goes wrong. Instead, we see how small, unnoticed shifts in a young person’s behaviour can accumulate into something dangerous.
And this is what makes it so uncomfortable. Because in reality, most young people who drift towards toxic influences don’t do it suddenly, and they don’t do it in isolation.
They do it when the adults around them aren’t truly seeing them. They do it when their emotions and experiences aren’t being accounted for. They do it when they don’t feel connected.
And if we, as adults, are too distracted, overwhelmed or out of touch to notice, then we become part of the problem, even when we mean well.
It’s easy to look at Adolescence and say, this is about kids today. But really, it’s about us.
Because the way young people navigate the world isn’t just about their choices. It’s about the environments we create for them.
If we, as adults, aren’t actively doing our own inner work, if we’re stuck in outdated habits, blind spots or reactivity, we can’t expect to guide the next generation effectively. We need to ask ourselves:
Because young people rarely take our words at face value. They either react or respond to what we show. Reacting often looks like rebellion, defiance, submission, recklessness, people-pleasing, selfishness or even bullying. These are all behaviours that mirror emotional confusion or unmet needs.
Responding, on the other hand, is a more mature skill that involves pausing, reflecting and choosing how to act. It’s part of the transition from adolescence to adulthood, and it’s incredibly hard to learn when the adults around them haven’t mastered it themselves. They learn not from what we say, but from what we model.
In Adolescence, we see this with painful clarity. The son pours his energy into trying to please his father, who rarely offers encouragement or emotional safety. He used to love drawing, but it was never acknowledged. His father wanted him to succeed in sports, something he struggled with. When he ‘failed’, his father didn’t criticise him directly. Instead, he simply looked away. The silence spoke volumes. Over time, the son internalised the message that he was never good enough unless he met expectations.
At home, he sees his dad swallow his emotions, especially anger, and unleash them elsewhere. It became part of an emotional script handed down, rather than interrupted.
The family dynamic as a whole quietly reinforces this pattern. The mother, in her effort to keep the peace, placates her husband and avoids confrontation. She doesn’t challenge his behaviour, even when it undermines the emotional safety of their children. The sister, portrayed in the series as the ‘ideal’ daughter, is affected too. She sees what’s happening, she feels the tension, but she holds herself together. She stays strong, perhaps because she feels she has to. It’s no wonder the parents are left asking, How could we have raised this one? But the truth is, each family member has adapted in their own way, shaped by an emotional climate that has gone unspoken for too long.
And yet, it’s clear the father loved his son. The tragedy lies not in a lack of love, but in the inability to express it in ways that nurtured connection and safety. He too was likely shaped by environments that taught him to shut down, to cope by turning away, to survive rather than express.
This isn’t just a story of the times we live in. It’s a story of generations. Many of us recognise it. We were conditioned to fit in, to manage ourselves for the comfort of others, and only later discovered how much of ourselves we had been hiding.
The turning point comes with awareness. That’s when change becomes possible. That’s when the script doesn’t have to be handed down again.
The father’s consistent pattern of looking away, avoiding accountability and withholding affirmation becomes the very thing his son learns to expect. Not support, but avoidance. So when the unthinkable happens and the truth becomes undeniable, the son doesn’t reach out for help. He turns to the one person he knows will look away: his father. Not out of trust, but because it’s the only pattern that feels familiar. The only response he knows how to count on.
And tragically, only at the very end, when everything has unravelled, does the father finally acknowledge the beauty of his son’s early drawings. The tenderness was always there. But it was buried beneath silence, shame and a deep inability to stay present with discomfort.
It’s a heartbreaking example of how modelling avoidance rather than awareness shapes behaviour in damaging and lasting ways.
But this isn’t about blame. And it’s not about being perfect.
It’s about being intentional. About doing our own inner work so we don’t pass our unresolved pain on to the next generation. It’s about paying attention, not just to the young people around us, but to what’s happening within us.
Because young people don’t need perfection. They need presence. They need adults who are willing to face discomfort, take responsibility and model what real connection and emotional integrity look like, especially when it’s hard.
That’s how the script changes. That’s how we break the cycle.
One of the biggest challenges for adults is seeing a situation for what it truly is, rather than what we assume or hope it to be. It’s easy to explain away changes in a young person’s behaviour — they’re just being a teenager, they’ll grow out of it, it’s just a phase — and miss the deeper signals.
This is where awareness and self-regulation matter most.
It begins with Accounting, the ability to take in what’s happening with clarity, free from distortion or assumption. Accounting is a core part of the Functional Fluency framework. It invites us to observe with openness and accuracy, to tune in to what is actually going on, not just what we wish were true.
Episode 4: Jamie's father Eddie breaks down with the realisation of what he may have inadvertently taught his son
And when we see clearly, we give ourselves the gift of choice. The choice to respond instead of react. The choice to stay curious rather than controlling. The choice to engage in a way that builds trust, rather than erodes it.
That’s where real connection begins — in the moment we become aware and choose how we want to show up.
One review of Adolescence called it “TV that could save lives”. But no TV series can do that. Only people can.
And that means us.
Not by panicking. Not by blaming. But by committing to being more aware, more engaged and more fluent in the ways we connect with the young people in our lives.
It starts with paying attention. It starts with doing our own work. It starts with choosing to be the kind of adult who sees, who listens, who understands.
And who knows how to guide, direct and care for the people they are responsible for, including themselves, in ways that are both firm and compassionate. That’s what real leadership looks like in everyday life.
Because that’s what they need. And that’s what creates the conditions for them to grow.
Note: This reflection was sparked by the Netflix series Adolescence, created by Jack Thorne and Stephen Graham. The acting is phenomenal, and the emotional depth portrayed throughout the series is what inspired this response. The thoughts shared here are personal interpretations of the themes explored, viewed through the lens of human connection, social responsibility and Functional Fluency.
