The cost of influence

It’s been a week of difficult watching and deep reading for me. As both a counsellor and a human being, I often find myself emotionally impacted by the societal trends that shape the mental health of those I support, especially our young people.

One TV show that left a lasting mark was Adolescence on Netflix. It follows the journey of Jamie, a teenage boy coming of age in a world saturated by toxic masculinity and social media-fuelled ideologies. It’s a harrowing depiction of how boys are often emotionally stunted by a culture that weaponises masculinity and punishes vulnerability. You watch as micro and macro influences shape Jamie’s worldview, school systems overstretched, parents juggling long hours, and an online world ready to fill the emotional void.

One interesting element of Jamie’s story was the use of emojis as a secret language among young people, symbols that carried dark, threatening meanings unknown to many adults. For some viewers, it was the first time they had even heard the term incel - an online subculture that promotes deeply misogynistic beliefs and glorifies violence against women.

It left me wondering: How did we let this happen?

We’ve created a digital culture where boys are taught that dominance is power and that empathy is weakness. And it's not just the boys who pay the price. In a workshop I attended this week, we explored the term ‘femicide’; the killing of women simply for being women. What a horrendous word to have to exist in any language. And yet, here it is, naming something that has long been denied, ignored or explained away. These are not isolated events. 

They are part of a larger, more dangerous pattern.

Masculinity, in its most toxic form, isn’t just emotionally restrictive for boys and men, it can be fatal for women and girls.

What binds these two realities together, Jamie’s struggle and the concept of femicide, is the wider influence of social media. We are living through a global psychological experiment, one that most parents never consented to but find themselves a part of, nonetheless. 

As someone who works daily with anxious, overwhelmed teens and burnt-out adults, I can say with confidence: the mental health fallout is only just beginning.

I’m currently reading Careless People by Sarah Wynn-Williams, a former executive at Meta (the parent company of Facebook). Her exposé offers an unfiltered glimpse behind the curtain of one of the most powerful tech companies on earth. One quote from the book floored me: “None of the Facebook executives I worked with would let their own children use the platform.” And this was more than a decade ago, in the early 2010s. They wanted to protect their children from the platform.

I love the use of the internet, but let's be honest, we all pay the price. We are a product.

Media theorist Douglas Rushkoff puts it plainly:

“If you’re not paying for the product, you are the product.”

The platforms we trust to entertain and educate our kids are often selling them to the highest bidder.

So, do I believe under-16s should have smartphones? 

The more I hear, the more concerned I become. We are unknowingly opening the door and allowing strangers into our children’s lives. Imagine a 13-year-old sitting innocently on their bed, surrounded ‘digitally’ by adults they’ve never met, some of whom wish to harm, exploit or manipulate.

A recent study by the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) found that 51% of children aged 11 to 13 have seen online pornography, many stumbling across it accidentally. And this doesn’t include the dark corners of the internet filled with extremist ideologies, unmoderated comment threads and “challenges” that cause real-world harm.

TikTok alone has seen dangerous trends go viral, encouraging choking games, risky stunts and disordered eating behaviours. 

Children are being bombarded with content that promotes unrealistic body standards, self-harm and hate speech. Bullying has transcended the school gates and now follows them home via their phones.

And yet, in our homes, we set PIN numbers to protect adult content on television, limiting what can be watched after 9 pm. But what protections exist for the social media our children scroll through 24/7? 

The internet is a Wild West, largely unregulated and increasingly hostile. There are no watershed hours online. The most graphic, dangerous and harmful content is available at the touch of a button.

So how do we protect our children?

We start by being brave enough to face the truth. We begin by educating ourselves, not just about the platforms but about the language, the trends, and the hidden subcultures. 

We talk to our children, not just to scold, but to understand. 

We demand better from tech companies and from government policy. And perhaps, most importantly, we question the “norm” of handing young people fully connected devices before they are emotionally equipped to handle them.

As a counsellor, I see the cost of digital exposure every day. Anxiety. Eating disorders. Body dysmorphia. Sleep disruption. Bullying. Disconnection. Identity confusion. And a deep, aching loneliness masked by the illusion of constant connection.

Let’s not wait until it’s too late. Let’s take the phones out of the bedrooms. Let’s talk about boundaries. Let’s sit with them, not just scroll with them. Let’s reclaim our role in their safety.

Because right now, silence is not neutral. It’s complicit.