Adolescence, a four-episode British psychological crime series, has become a global phenomenon since its release on Netflix in March 2025. The show isn’t just gripping—it’s deeply personal. Watching it left me reflecting on my own teenage years.

As the series portrays so powerfully, adolescence can be one of the most difficult stages in life. It’s a time when we deal with overwhelming pressure from peers and parents while figuring out who we are. A lot of negativities are at play within one’s own mind that is still being formed. As Jamie, the troubled protagonist, clings desperately to Briony, his psychologist, there is no one to listen to or understand these thoughts in a normal setting.

Like Jamie, I grew up in a loving family. My dad, while affectionate in many ways, was demanding when it came to academics. If my grades weren’t near the top of the class, they weren’t worthy of praise. I was an above-average student, but never the best, and his disappointment was hard to shake, just like Jamie cannot shake his dad’s disappointment in his football skills. My dad even told me, more than once, that I was “not good enough.” Those words stayed with me and shaped the way I saw myself. No matter what improvements I made or what praise I received from teachers, I believed I wasn’t enough.

My self-esteem took more hits from my peers. I was quiet and introverted, a mismatch in a world of chatty girls who bonded over K-pop idols, shopping, boys, and makeup. While Jamie tried to fit into his group of boys by developing harmful images of masculinity, I tried to resist my peers’ demands for conformity by choosing quiet alone time with books. But subconsciously, I was influenced by their obsession with the same body image and facial looks. I became self-conscious of my body, uncomfortable showing my legs, and hesitant to embrace my own appearance. Years of self-doubt had shaped how I saw myself—and how I approached dating. My twenties were full of rejection and unreciprocated crushes, driven by a deep belief that I just wasn’t attractive or worthy of love.

It wasn’t until my mid-30’s when I finally unlearned those beliefs—not because my parents didn’t care, but because I was committed to discovering what it meant to live my own life, not someone else’s version of it. Becoming truly independent means slowly, sometimes painfully, separating from the voices that raised and surrounded you—even the ones that loved you.

Watching Jamie’s story unfold, I couldn’t help but wonder: What if someone, anyone, had really tried to understand him? What if a parent, a teacher, or a friend had seen what made him different instead of trying to make him the same?

Maybe things could have turned out differently.