Teen Mental Health: Netflix's Adolescence

Written by Molly Josephs || Art by Cloe Moreno

At the behest of a group of teenagers, I have just finished watching the Netflix series, Adolescence. It’s powerful. It’s sad. It’s important. If you haven’t watched it, do so. In case you haven’t seen or heard about it yet, it’s about a thirteen year old boy who is accused of murdering a classmate. It’s about middle school, social dynamics, bullying, teens and the internet, family tragedy, parenting, etc.

I watched it primarily because some former students who are now about to graduate from high school thought it was amazing. They thought it was so important, in fact, that we are going to make a podcast episode about it. I am excited to interview them and expect that we might talk about the algorithmically propelled “manosphere,” what adults miss when trying to understand teen text messages and social media posts, and other pressures—amplified by the internet— that young men face.

However, as an educator, the thing I wished more adults watching the show noted is just how much the protagonist, and frankly for most of the characters in the show, suffered at school, not because of his school in particular, but because he was bullied by kids and invisible to adults. Besides his parents, he seems to have no trusted, safe adults in his life. He seems to have no one at all who really sees his magic. The protagonist is plagued by “not being good at anything.” He thinks he’s ugly and “not clever” and the only time he ever sounds slightly happy in the show is when he talks about starting to draw, something he is good at.

I have found that grown-ups are eager to blame tech for the youth mental health and loneliness crises but rarely ask, how does the structure and overall culture of middle and high school in our contemporary society contribute to these crises and what could we change in order to help young people thrive?

We could follow the research of Sarah Fine and Jal Mehta and create more club-like contexts where young people are in interest-driven, age-integrated settings, where they are able to do authentic, collaborative creative work that often boosts their confidence and self-efficacy. We could start school later, like the state of California, so teens are able to get more sleep (chronic sleep deprivation has been correlated with mental health issues).

We could, like Big Picture Learning, help young people get internships that help them explore their interests.

We could provide funding for youth to do projects that help them contribute to their communities and cultivate a sense of purpose like Purpose Commons and the National Contribution Project does.

We could follow the work of Niobe Way and Carrie James and Emily Weinstein and help adults and youth to learn to listen better to young people so that they feel more connected and supported. It is this point that I want to emphasize because it is so nominally simple and affordable, but so strangely, rarely done. Changing a school schedule or start time can be hard, but listening is logistically and financially uncomplicated.

As a teacher, I have worked more listening time into my classes. I start every single class by asking my students how they are doing. It is usually seven minutes dedicated to “highs and lows,” or “what’s going on in your life this week,” or “what are you looking forward to this weekend.” I listen to what they say and follow up throughout the week (e.g. How’d your game go? How was your dinner with your grandma?). Check-in time feels short, informal, and not like a big deal. However, if I skip it, my students immediately request it. “What about highs and lows?” they’ll say.

One time, years ago, I asked my students, if we should keep doing our check-ins. Did they like it? I remember one boy saying that it was the only time all day where he was genuinely asked by a grown up how he was doing. Many other students nodded in agreement. I never skipped check-ins again.

I learned that listening to young people without an agenda is uncommon in schools and in our society at large. Young people are often spoken to as objects to be directed, managed, taught, not as humans with complex inner lives and beautiful ideas. I have found that asking questions with good follow up questions is revolutionary for understanding young peoples interests and seeing their individual magic. By asking real questions about their interests and taking even the most “foreign” interests (e.g. video games, nail art, etc.) seriously, I have learned so much, and in the process, get to help young people feel seen. Every interest has depth and it’s up to us as listeners to find the depth in everything.

I spend a lot of time asking young people: What have you been thinking about recently? What resonates with you about that? How did you discover it? It is exactly through these questions that one of my former students told me about Adolescence and how it moved him.

After watching the first several episodes, I asked groups of middle and high school boys about what I call “the teenage boy internet.” I asked what I should check out that I haven’t, like the good, weird, or funny stuff. It was an uproar. They were literally screaming to tell me about “John Pork” and “Tim Cheese” and these characters with wild storylines that they laugh about. They told me about “Liver King,” and Lebron songs, things that just make them laugh.

They were so excited to show me this trove of digital culture I had no idea about. And while it was just fun and strange, what was serious was how delighted they were to actually share and explain a little bit about this upside-down internet world they exist in.

Starting to listen and really listen without judgement, to understand, to relate. It is such a gift and I feel so lucky the teens in my life let me in. But it all starts with just asking, and then asking some more. This leads to teens feeling heard and seen, and when they have a safe, trusted adult who they can share and laugh with, they also know they have someone who has their back when they need support.

If Netflix’s Adolescence scared you like it scared me, join me in asking the teens in your life curious, empathetic questions so that we can begin to understand their universe and see it more the way they do.

Molly Josephs is an educator and ‘the adult who works at This Teenage Life’.