Forget sleep, Netflix’s viral hit show Adolescence made me rethink how I raise boys in an Age of Rage

Dubai: When was the last time you watched a series so disturbing and rattling that you had to take breaks in between episodes?

Everyone’s rightfully talking about Netflix’s latest hit, Adolescence — a four-part series about 13-year-old Jamie Miller (Owen Cooper), who is accused of murdering his female classmate by stabbing her.

While it’s a brilliantly acted show — with each of its four episodes shot in a single, continuous take — Adolescence is one of those rare series that forces you to reflect on the upcoming generation of children, emotionally tethered to their gadgets and phones. It also makes you confront the fears of parenthood, where you’re expected to shield young minds from digital invasion and toxic messaging. (Here’s looking at you, Andrew Tate – the face of incel culture)

As a mother to three seemingly well-behaved children — nine-year-old twin boys and a 14-year-old teenage daughter — I often feel that parenting in modern times is a treacherous terrain. Much like modern-day dating, where you could meet either your soulmate or a serial cheater, parenting in today’s digital age is a minefield that can blow up in your face.

The series forces you to confront an unsettling truth — you may believe your children are safe and secure at home, but you’re likely being lulled into a false sense of security. There was a time when spending quality time with your kids, talking about their day, recommending books, or introducing them to inspiring role models felt like enough to shape their minds. But the bitter reality is, in today’s digital age that influence can pale in comparison to toxic male influencers like Andrew Tate, who proudly make misogyny and toxic masculinity their brand. Hating women and young girls if they spurn your advances? Bring it on.

While many have rightly praised the penultimate episode—in which child psychologist Briony (Erin Doherty) meets her young client for an independent assessment before the court case—it was the quietly devastating fourth episode that truly stayed with me. In it, the shattered parents, grappling with disbelief and grief, ask themselves the most haunting of questions: Where did we go wrong? With an accomplished, well-adjusted elder daughter, they’re left tormented by the possibility that they missed something, that they could have done something—anything—to prevent Jamie from committing such a horrific crime. It’s the emotional equivalent of survivors' guilt, and it cuts deep.

Here’s why that episode resonated so loudly: Jamie didn’t come from an abusive home. His parents were middle-class, stable, and busy doing what most parents do—trying to provide their children with a decent life. They weren’t neglectful, just distracted in the way so many of us are, caught up in the daily grind. That ordinariness is what makes it so chilling.

This series has sparked widespread conversations around incel culture—a term that originated from “involuntary celibate” and has come to describe a disturbing online subculture rooted in misogyny, entitlement, and loneliness. But beyond the headlines and hashtags, what struck me most—as a parent—was the urgent need to have real conversations with our children.

What are they watching? Who are they following? Do they have secret social media accounts? Are they being kind? Are they feeling seen and heard? Are our sons being taught not just not to bully, but to treat girls with the same respect and protection they'd want for their own sisters?

Yes, we all try to have these conversations in bits and pieces, but sometimes it takes a chilling, visceral drama like this to really hit home. One scene in particular gutted me: when Jamie’s parents recall seeing him glued to his iPad late at night, and say they didn’t stop him. That moment haunted me.

Since then, I’ve asked my children to deposit their devices in my room before bed. It's a small step, but it’s a start. Sometimes, a show doesn’t just entertain—it’s that rude wake-up call where you can’t hit the snooze button.