Like seemingly everyone else in the country lately, I settled in to watch Adolescence on Netflix with a mix of curiosity and a little uneasiness. It felt kind of like opening a box I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the contents of; I’d read the reviews, and as the mom of four adolescent boys myself, I wondered if the show would make me want to run screaming from the room.
The miniseries, centered on the case of a 13-year-old accused murderer named Jamie, promised to pull no punches — and it definitely delivered on that promise. By the time I reached the show’s conclusion, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the void, wondering what I might have been missing. The show’s message was as clear as day: There’s a whole hidden side to our kids that we might not even know, a side that could be way more dangerous than we ever imagined.
I tried to watch Adolescence with a kind of detached curiosity, but as the story unfolded, something inside me shifted, and I felt less like a casual observer and more like, well, a parent. I began to see my pieces of my own boys in Jamie, in his world. I felt exactly the same as, I suspect, every other parent who watches the show: surely he couldn’t have done something so horrific … right? I mean, he’s just a kid. His room looks like my boys’ rooms (I bet he has wrappers under his bed, too). His reaction when the police burst into his house was to call for his dad, wide-eyed and panicked, and he was scared enough to wet himself, for god’s sake. Whose kid wouldn’t react like that to such a situation?
Jamie was from an unproblematic family. Like my family. We aren’t perfect by any means, but we’re normal. Boringly, unremarkably normal. Sure, he said his dad had lost his temper a few times, but that is — to at least some extent — relatable to the vast majority of parents. (If you haven’t ever reached the end of your tether and lost it on your kid, please tell me your secrets). As a fan of true crime, I listen to my favorite podcasts as they do a deep-dive into the murderer’s childhood experiences, often revealing some sort of tumultuous upbringing, if not outright depravity, that they were exposed to in their formative years: a reason for their unimaginable actions. But this was not the case for Jamie, just like it isn’t the case for my kids.
I’m close with my boys. I like to think I know them intimately — their daily routines, their favorite snacks, their friends, their jokes, and the little things that make them nervous or excited. I know I was sure I had a good grip on who they were, at least when we were together. But as Adolescence dug deeper into the darker corners of the internet, that sinking feeling dug deeper into my chest. The show drove home a harsh truth: there’s an entire world behind the screen that I barely understand — and what’s worse, as I get older and technology accelerates faster, it’s almost like I can feel the rift of my ignorance widening no matter how valiantly I attempt to keep up.
I started questioning the countless hours I’ve spent at school drop-offs, sports events, and after-school activities, confident that I was involved in every aspect of their lives. But how often had I really sat down and talked with them about what they were doing online? How much did I know about the digital spaces where they let their true selves — or sometimes a completely different version of themselves — shine through? It hit me hard: Despite knowing all the little details of their day-to-day lives, I’m nearly a stranger to the people they are online.
It was terrifying — and more than a little shameful. I always thought I was a vigilant parent, someone who understood my children inside and out. But here I was, realizing that knowing my kids in the physical and emotional sense was only part of the picture. In today’s world, our kids live two lives: one we see at home and one online. And the digital world, with all its memes, hashtags, and fleeting trends, could be just as influential — if not more so — than the world we navigate together. So why haven’t I been leading them through those online spaces with the same level of guidance I give them “IRL”?
Adolescence left me with a deep sense of responsibility (and a heaping helping of mom guilt). Watching Jamie, a kid lost in a maze of online signals and misunderstood messages, made me wonder how much of my own children’s digital lives I actually understand. Technology is everywhere in our house — but despite this constant presence, the world where my boys truly live online remains largely a mystery to me. (Except the games they play, and that’s mostly because of the constant barrage of asks for V-Bucks and Robux.) They speak a language of quick texts, curated images, and online banter that I’m just not fluent in. The show was a humbling reminder that the world I thought I knew was far more complicated than I’d naively assumed. It felt like I’d been wearing blinders, so certain of my understanding that I didn’t even realize I was missing a crucial part of who they were becoming. Or maybe deep down I knew, but buried those fears in the optimistic belief that most parents share: “My kid would never.”
This wake-up call wasn’t just about feeling inadequate — it was about realizing that parenting today demands a new kind of awareness. Knowing our kids now means more than tracking their schedules or monitoring their moods. It means really looking into the virtual spaces where they express themselves, where they build identities that might be totally different from the ones they show us at home. And while these online identities can be a source of creativity and connection, they also come with risks.
As I sat on the edge of my bed after watching the show, I found myself in a state of quiet reflection. I thought about how my love for my kids had always been like a shield, protecting them from the harsher parts of life. But now, in the digital age, that shield needs to be stronger, more flexible. It needs to account for a realm where influences are constant and where the rules change faster than I can keep up. I realized that if any of us are to truly know our kids, we have to bridge the gap between the tangible moments we share and the intangible world they inhabit online.
So what do we do? I guess it starts by having honest conversations with our kids — not just the usual check-ins about school or friends, but real talks about what they do online. Asking them about the memes they laugh at, the games they play, and the communities they’re a part of. Listening — not to judge, but to understand.
It’s a journey that’s as uncertain as it is necessary, with a very big learning curve. And if Adolescence taught me anything, it’s that being a good parent in this day and age means being willing to admit that you don’t have all the answers. It means being curious and vigilant, even when it feels a bit uncomfortable. It means recognizing that the digital world isn’t separate from our family life but a part of it. And it means committing to evolve, to learn, and to connect with our kids on every level.
I know I’m not alone in this struggle. Many of us are caught between the old ways of parenting and the new digital realities our kids — and, by extension, we as parents — face. We’re all trying to balance our instincts with a need to understand a world that’s moving faster than we ever imagined. And while it can be scary (and, OK, embarrassing) to admit that we might not know our kids as well as we thought, it’s also an opportunity to grow closer by embracing this shared challenge.
Knowing our kids today means familiarizing ourselves with every part of who they are: both the version of them we see in our living rooms and the one they present online. It means accepting that the digital world is a vibrant and complex part of their identity, one that requires our attention and understanding just as much as every other part does.
Adolescence may have left me with more questions than answers, but it also ignited a determination to do better — to understand my boys in every sense of the word. I know their routines, their jokes, and their moods, but now I realize just how much I have to learn about the digital parts of them that have been hidden away for too long. It’s a scary thought, realizing that knowing our children is no longer limited to just the moments we share in person. But it’s also an invitation — to ask questions, to listen with an open heart, and to grow alongside our kids as they navigate a world that is both familiar and entirely new.
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