SurvivingFE

Educating, Innovating, and Navigating the Madness

Blog: “Adolescence” so real

The series every teacher talks about

Adolescence on Netflix: A Teacher’s Perspective

I did what every exhausted, coffee-fuelled teacher does on a rare free evening—I fell headfirst into a Netflix binge. The culprit?

Adolescence, a new series that gripped me so tightly I watched all series in one sitting. The story was intense, raw, and, dare I say, eerily familiar.

The standout performance came from Ethan Cole, the young actor playing Jason. Watching an interview with him, his on-screen father Mark Reynolds, and the ever-present policeman David Henshaw (because, of course, there had to be one), I was astounded to learn that Ethan had no formal acting training. Not a single drama lesson. No overpriced theatre school. Just raw, unfiltered talent. And yet, his portrayal was painfully real—because for teachers across the UK, Jason isn’t just a character. Jason is every classroom.

And then there was Erin Doherty, playing the psychologist. The emotions, the drama, the sheer weight of the situation—she captured it all. The pain, the fear, the hopelessness of trying to help a young person on the brink. I felt for her so much. Because in my career, I’ve been in those situations too.

I’ve been shouted at, spat on, pushed, threatened, and even put into dangerous situations—not just by students, but sometimes by my own colleagues. That’s FE for you. It attracts teenagers who don’t want to stay in school post-16 and adults who are either looking for a career change or, let’s be honest, were sent by the job centre to keep their benefits. It’s a melting pot of ambition, second chances, and, unfortunately, some very challenging behaviour.

And Adolescence got it right. The behaviour in the series wasn’t exaggerated. It was real. And that’s the sad part.

The film perfectly captured what teachers witness every day—vulnerable young people navigating an online world filled with bullying, abuse, and a constant pressure to protect themselves. They have their own coded language, their own digital hideouts, and a relentless fear of being exposed. They bottle up emotions until—boom!—an outburst erupts in the middle of a lesson on simultaneous equations.

And us? We deal with it. ADHD meltdowns? Handled. Anxiety attacks? Managed. Depression, trauma, and emotional distress? All in a day’s work. Except, unlike schools, in FE we do it with limited training, zero classroom assistants, and a support system that mostly consists of other equally exhausted teachers.

The truth is, there’s a growing mental health crisis among our students, and we are on the frontline. The safety nets are fraying. Yet, we stand in front of our classes, whiteboard pens in hand, trying our best to be the mentors, therapists, tech-support, and occasional substitute parents that our students need.

Because, at the end of the day, I am a teacher. I am a teacher. I am a teacher. I am a teacher. I am a teacher.

Now, where’s my coffee?

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