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Two weeks ago I was welcomed into a warm, humming hall by the women of Sudbury Gainsborough WI. Tea was brewing, plates of cakes and scones were plentiful and chairs were set out with care. The room was full of people who had come not just as parents or grandparents but as neighbours and friends - community members who want to make life a little easier for the young people around them. I was there to talk about supporting children’s mental health and to sign copies of Happy Families . What I left with was much more: the steady feeling that when a community leans in, children can thrive. “Would you stop?” I opened with a true story: a group of teenage boys waving down cars for help after their friend crashed his bike. Over fifty drivers passed. One stopped. I asked the room, “Would you have stopped?” - and the hall filled with honest reflections. It set the tone for the evening: no judgement, just courage and curiosity. Because our kids “wave their arms” emotionally all the time - in their moods, meltdowns, silences. The question for us is always: will we stop? The world our children are growing up in We talked about what it’s like to be young now: constant online connection, performance pressure, global worries - and, crucially, less everyday freedom to roam, play and make small mistakes. We explored how many of us (me included) have absorbed the idea that a “good” childhood should be smooth. When life inevitably gets bumpy, it can feel like failure rather than preparation for adulthood. A theme that resonated: we’re important, but not all-powerful . We can’t control our child’s temperament, every peer interaction or every outcome. What we can influence - powerfully - is how we show up, what we model, and the atmosphere we create at home. Less in our heads, more in our lives Therapy evidence keeps finding that lasting change often comes from what we do , not just what we think . Small real-world actions - approaching feared situations, trying something new, moving our bodies, reconnecting with people - shift mood and rebuild confidence. It’s true for adults and for children. The room lit up when we talked about restoring play and age-appropriate freedom : walking to a friend’s, den-building, bikes, boredom without a screen. Unsupervised doesn’t have to mean unsafe; it means space to practise being a person in the world, with a steady adult nearby. Parents reflected on their own anxieties about worst-case scenarios and how this impacted on their confidence to allow their children more freedom outside of the house. Modelling beats lecturing (every time) We circled back to a simple truth: children learn far more from what we do than what we say . If I want my teen off their phone but mine never leaves my hand, the lesson is clear. If I want them to handle big feelings, the most powerful teaching is how I handle mine: do I pause, breathe, apologise, repair? Teenagers rarely say, “My parent’s lecture saved me.” They say, “They listened. They believed me. They didn’t give up on me. They apologised.” Difficulty is part of the job description When my son came home after his first term at university, he told me about a complicated flatmate situation - mess, conflict, tricky dynamics. He explained how he’d handled it: conversations, boundaries, balancing kindness with firmness. I realised that the bumpy moments we’d worked through in childhood weren’t evidence we’d failed - they were preparation for managing the challenges that life would later bring. He was ready. Why groups like the WI matter right now In an age where it can feel harder to connect - where many of us spend more time scrolling than sitting beside one another - the WI’s long tradition of bringing women together to learn, share skills, and act for the common good is quietly radical. The WI’s vision is clear: women coming together as active citizens to improve lives in their local, national and global communities. From its beginnings in 1915 - giving women a voice and being a force for good - the WI has grown into the UK’s largest women’s organisation and a trusted place for women across generations to learn from one another. That steady, intergenerational space is exactly what many families - and many of us - are missing. It doesn't just take a village to raise a child, it takes a village to raise a parent, The WI also stands for inclusion and civic contribution: non-party-political, rooted in democratic ideals, and explicit about equality, diversity and inclusion. Put simply, it’s a home for all women who want to connect, learn, campaign and contribute. I was particularly struck by the hunger for new understanding and knowledge. As I signed copies of my books it was clear the passion for it's members to take the new information shared this evening to their relationships with their adult children, who were often facing their own challenges, and they were desperately trying to find the best way to support them and these relationships which continue to be so precious to them. This was hugely touching - as was one member's comment at the end "Thank you, this evening has helped me understand how I can best be there for my adult son and cultivate that relationship". And it’s not just tea and cake (though there’s plenty of that hospitality). WI members campaign - on CPR skills and access to defibrillators, climate action, equal pay, mental health, and more - showing how local connection becomes national impact. A gentle invitation If you’ve ever wondered whether there’s a place to meet people who care about their neighbours, to learn something new, or to be supported during a tough patch - reach out to your local WI . Visit the WI website to find a group near you, drop in as a guest, and discover where your curiosity or skills might fit. You can go to be uplifted, to offer a hand, or both. A simple tool for tricky moments (recap) Try this four-step framework with any age: Notice – “I’ve noticed you’ve been in your room a lot this week.” Connect – “I’m here. I can see this is really hard.” Validate – “Given what happened, I get why you’re upset.” Collaborate – “When you’ve had a breather, what might help? Let’s think together.” Two questions to carry this week: What might this behaviour be protecting or expressing? How can I show up as the adult who stops, today? Three tiny experiments: One shared offline moment – a walk, a game, baking; phones away for both of you. One “stay with the feeling” moment – “This feels horrible, and you can handle it. I’m right here.” One small risk you allow – they order the drink, ask the question, walk a little further (you cheer from the sidelines). Thank you, Sudbury Gainsborough WI Thank you for the generous welcome, the thoughtful questions, the laughter and the honesty. You reminded me that community is a protective factor - for children and for the adults who love them. If you are interested in finding out more please contact through: sudburygainsboroughwi@gmail.com Invite: host a WI event with me If you’re part of a WI (or a community group) and would like a warm, practical session on supporting children’s mental health - tailored for parents, grandparents, educators and neighbours - I’d love to join you. I can offer a 45-minute talk plus Q&A and book signing, or a more interactive workshop. To enquire: send a message via my Facebook or Instagram @drbethmosley, or email drbethmosley@outlook.com . Let’s bring your community together around the children who need us.

As the clocks go back and the mornings grow darker, many of us feel the shift. The air cools, routines tighten, and there’s a collective slowing that can feel both comforting and heavy. For some, autumn brings excitement - golden leaves, cosy evenings, fresh starts. For others, it’s a subtle sense of sadness, fatigue, or restlessness that’s hard to name. If you’ve noticed your mood or motivation dipping lately, you’re not alone - and it doesn’t mean something’s wrong. It means you’re human, responding to change. 1. Why the Season Affects Us All Our minds and bodies are finely tuned to light, rhythm, and connection. When daylight hours shrink, our internal clock - the circadian rhythm - shifts too. Less sunlight can affect the production of serotonin (our mood stabiliser) and melatonin (which regulates sleep). This can lead to changes in sleep, appetite, and energy - what many describe as the “autumn blues.” Some people experience this more intensely, as Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), but in truth, we all live on a continuum of seasonal sensitivity . Even animals adapt to the rhythm of the year - sleeping more, slowing down, or storing energy to get through the colder months. My chickens seem to be spending more time in their house and going to bed a lot earlier; their familiar clucking is muted in the mornings. They seem a lot less enthusiastic about life. In many ways, these seasonal changes are nature’s way of protecting us, urging us to rest and restore. We’re part of that same cycle. And it’s not just biology - our environment changes, too. We’re indoors more, social plans reduce, and the pressure of the year’s end can weigh heavily. According to the ONS, worries around finances, health, and wellbeing rise steadily through the colder months. So if you’re finding it harder to get going, or you feel emotionally flatter, you’re not weak - you’re adapting. 💡 A small but important note: With reduced sunlight, many people also become low in Vitamin D , which supports both mood and immune function. A simple daily supplement (as recommended by the NHS during autumn and winter) can make a real difference. 2. The Ripple Effect — Parents, Children and Seasonal Wellbeing For parents, this time of year can be especially tricky. You might notice your own energy dipping just as family life ramps up with school, work, and winter commitments. Children and teenagers often feel these seasonal shifts too - though they might express it as irritability, tiredness, or withdrawal. Here’s the key: children learn how to respond to emotional changes by watching us. When we model awareness - noticing our own needs and adjusting kindly - they see that feeling low energy or needing more rest is normal, not shameful. A few gentle ways to model this: Name it kindly: “I’m feeling a bit slower today - I think I need some daylight and a stretch.” Keep connection easy: Warm chats on the sofa, a walk with a hot chocolate, or cooking together. Normalise rest: Show that taking things slower isn’t giving up, it’s tuning in. When parents ground themselves in these rhythms, children feel steadier too. 3. Practical Ways to Support Wellbeing Through the Season Light: Get as much natural light as possible - especially in the morning. Even 10 minutes outdoors can lift mood. Open curtains wide, use warm lighting in the evenings, and consider a daylight lamp if mornings feel especially tough. Movement: When motivation dips, keep it gentle but consistent. A walk, dancing in the kitchen, or stretching together as a family keeps both body and mind active. Connection: As days shorten, isolation can creep in. Schedule low-pressure social moments - coffee with a friend, a family board game, or simply sitting together without screens. Routine & Purpose: Structure helps the brain feel safe. Small, meaningful goals - like a “Sunday reset” or a shared weekly ritual - anchor us through uncertainty. Kind self-talk: Replace “I should be coping better” with “I’m adjusting - and that’s okay.” Warmth and Comfort: Staying warm doesn’t have to mean high bills. Electric over-blankets are an affordable game-changer - perfect for curling up under while watching TV. (A lifesaver for me and my children when we lived in an old, hard-to-heat house!) Layering clothes, using hot water bottles, and closing curtains early can all help retain warmth. The slow cooker is another autumn hero - easy, budget-friendly, and welcoming to come home to after work. Throw in ingredients in the morning, and by dinner you have something nourishing waiting. 4. The Role of Home - Creating a Sanctuary Our homes play a huge role in how we feel through the darker months. They can drain us - or they can hold us. A calm, nurturing environment doesn’t have to mean perfection or expensive design. It’s about warmth, light, and a sense of belonging. Spaces that feel safe and personal support our nervous systems to settle and recharge. This is also the season of preparing - a deep, almost instinctive human urge. There’s genuine satisfaction in getting things ready for winter: collecting leaves, tidying the garden, packing away summer furniture. Research shows that this kind of seasonal preparation gives us a sense of control and accomplishment — it’s nature’s version of the “spring clean,” but turned inward and slower. Think soft lighting, tidy corners, warm textures, and familiar scents. These aren’t just aesthetic choices - they’re psychological ones. When our homes support calm and comfort, we feel more able to face the world outside. That’s why I love the growing conversation around how design affects wellbeing - and why I’ll be tagging www. Nestopia.io for their work in enabling people to find homes, whilst truly caring for the people within them. 5. Closing Reflection As the year tilts towards winter, we’re invited to slow down — not to withdraw, but to realign. This season reminds us that rest, rhythm, and reflection are essential parts of growth. So as you move through the coming weeks, notice what changes for you and your family. Allow gentleness where you’d usually push. Let home be a haven that helps you adapt and restore. “The darker months invite us inward — not to hide, but to reconnect with what truly sustains us.”

When Home Changes — and So Do We Home is more than a roof, a postcode, or a collection of things we’ve gathered over time. It’s the stage where our lives unfold — the place that holds our stories, our laughter, and sometimes our hardest goodbyes. For many of us, home also represents  safety  — a place where we can truly be ourselves, free from pretence or external pressures. It’s where we can exhale, take off our masks, and feel seen and accepted just as we are. This is why, when home feels threatened — by conflict, separation, loss, or uncertainty — it can evoke such powerful emotions. When the place that symbolises safety and belonging becomes unstable, it shakes our sense of identity and control. Of course, financial security is part of it. And yes — making things look and feel nice matters too. The way we choose the light, the fabrics, the sense of calm or comfort — these are part of how we nurture ourselves and those we love. For some, the  physical manifestation of home  — the care taken in arranging it, the colours chosen, the attention to detail — is a love language in itself. It’s how we show care and create a sanctuary for our family. But that expression isn’t always seen for what it is. To others, it can seem like being “precious” about things that don’t matter as much to them. What can be misunderstood as fussiness is often an act of love — a way of creating beauty and stability in a world that can feel chaotic. But underneath all the cushions, colours and comforts, what truly makes a home isn’t the material. It’s the people. It’s how we show up, the tone we set, the consistency we offer. When I last moved house, I walked around our old home — a nearly 400-year-old house — on the day I left it. For years it had felt alive, like it had its arms around our family, and then, empty, it felt like a shell. The walls stood the same, but the warmth had gone. That day I recognised something deeply: homes feel alive because of the people within them — their energy, their care, their presence. The life wasn’t in the bricks; it was in us. So when we get distracted by the material aspects of home (the décor, the furniture, the “perfect arrangement”), we sometimes forget that how we show up — as parent, partner, step-parent, sibling, friend — is what makes the deeper difference. The way we invite, the way we protect, the way we care. That is the foundation of home. A Word for Newly Single Fathers and Mothers When families change — through separation, divorce, or other life transition — the idea of home can feel shifted, fragile, uncertain. For newly single parents, particularly those who stay in the family home while the other partner leaves, there is a distinctive set of challenges and responsibilities. But it’s equally important to recognise the parent who leaves the family home (whether by choice or circumstance) and the emotional, financial and identity shifts they face. For the parent who stays Remaining in the home offers continuity — familiar rooms, the same school run, the same home base for children. For children, that stability can matter enormously. But the parent who stays often finds themselves carrying the full emotional and financial load: sole decision-maker, sole carer, sole maintainer of the home. That load is heavy. Research shows single-parent households face increased risks of housing insecurity and financial stress after separation. You may find yourself negotiating boundary-setting, redefining the home, and figuring out what “ours” looks like now — even while you’re still financially or emotionally connected to the other partner. And yet, there can also be moments of unexpected growth in this transition. If you’ve been living in a household where it was difficult to feel fully yourself — perhaps due to criticism, tension, or longstanding patterns of disharmony — creating a home of your own can be profoundly liberating. It can become a space of  rediscovery : finding your own voice, your own rhythm, and your own way of being without fear or the constraints of roles assumed over many years. Home becomes not only a place of refuge but a mirror for who you are becoming. For the parent who leaves Leaving the home — even when necessary — can bring major upheaval: of identity, finances, belonging and routine. It may feel like exile from the life you built, or a step towards something uncertain. Research emphasises that separation is not a single event but a process of ongoing adjustment. For many, the financial consequences are stark: losing a shared income, finding new accommodation, managing logistics, and rebuilding social support networks. Emotionally, it can mean grief for the familiar, guilt about the past, and confusion about who you are now — parent, partner, or independent self. One longitudinal study found that divorced parents often faced multiple simultaneous adjustments — moving house, changing employment, re-establishing child-care routines — each affecting their sense of stability and wellbeing. Leaving doesn’t always feel like relief; it can feel like dislocation, a loss of anchor, an abrupt shift in identity. Both the staying and leaving parent are navigating deep psychological change. Supporting children between homes For children, navigating life between two homes can be disorientating. They may worry about what belongs where, or whether they truly have a “base.” Supporting them means giving both homes a sense of  place and continuity : a shared bedtime ritual, a few familiar objects that travel between houses, or similar expectations about routines. Consistency helps children feel that while the locations may differ, the  emotional home  — love, safety, care — remains intact. You can read more about this my article ( https://www.panmacmillan.com/blogs/lifestyle-wellbeing/how-to-help-children-deal-with-divorce-or-separation ) and a soon to come blog on supporting children through home transitions. Bridging both experiences Whether you are staying or leaving, the task is the same: to rebuild a sense of home, to ground yourself in care and connection, to find continuity of meaning. For the one who left: remember that your parenting role remains, even when the home base changes — your emotional presence still matters. For the one who stayed: remember the deep resource you are — your steadiness, your presence, your love are what your children will remember. Holding the family home — and setting Boundaries Sometimes the other partner may return to the family home — to collect, to visit, to reconnect. This can blur boundaries, especially when the house still carries shared history. It’s healthy to clarify: Who lives here now? What does respect look like in this space? How can we co-parent while maintaining each person’s sense of ownership and safety? Boundaries are not about punishment; they’re about safety and clarity. A clear boundary — “This is the children’s home, and we make the rules together here” — helps everyone, including the children, understand where stability lies. You don’t have to be rigid or punitive; you can be warm and consistent, but you do need clarity. And when you are the parent who stays, you are also the guardian of that clarity for your children. Rebuilding from Nothing Home is sometimes taken away — through floods, wildfires, war or disaster. Around the world, families have lost their physical homes in a moment: the wildfires in California that consume entire neighbourhoods, or the devastation of war in Gaza, where people face displacement and must rebuild from literal rubble. These extreme situations highlight a truth: physical home is fragile, but home in the human sense — connection, care, memory, routine, love — can survive and be rebuilt. When everything material is gone, what remains is community: shared meals under tents, neighbours supporting neighbours, children playing amidst the unfamiliar. It’s a painful but powerful reminder that home begins with relationship, not bricks. For any of us rebuilding — after separation, loss or displacement — it helps to remember that home starts again the moment people come together with care and intention. When you cook a meal, share a conversation, or invite someone in, you are rebuilding home. Legacy — Beyond Objects Some objects in our homes carry deep associations: perhaps the heirloom teapot from your grandmother or the pebble from a special beach. These “containers of memory” matter. But the deeper legacy of home is often found in  routines and rituals  — the Friday takeaway night, the Sunday walk, the after-school chat over tea, the bedtime story. These are the threads that weave the family memory. You don’t need to renounce the past to build your own version of home. You can respect what came before, and adapt it. Keep the Sunday meal, but invite new friends. Keep saying “goodnight” to your children the way you always did, but add a new ritual of asking them the best and hardest part of their day. The power lies in building on rather than erasing. Legacy in home isn’t about perfectly preserving what was, but about honouring and adapting. That way, children and families see continuity — and also growth. Even as things change, the core remains. When a New Partner or Step-Parent Moves In When a new partner moves into a home with children, it opens opportunity — and also emotional complexity. For the child, it can feel like another change, another reminder of the “original” family lost. For the step-parent, it can feel like you don’t know where you belong, or that you have no voice, especially if the children don’t welcome you immediately. For the child: It helps to speak openly about the change: “I know this change might feel strange or even sad. It’s okay to have those feelings.” “You don’t have to stop missing what was before.” “We’re learning together how we will live now.” This gives safety and voice. It helps children understand that their grief and confusion are normal. For the new partner / step-parent: Remember: children’s distance may not be about  you  — it may be about  their loss . Avoid taking their reticence personally; feeling “unwelcome” is natural. Focus on connection through kindness, consistency and respect, not on being their “parent.” Agree together on house rules, routines and shared vision — how you’ll live, what stays the same, what changes. Take time. Belonging doesn’t rush in. This way, the home becomes inclusive, respectful of past losses and open to new bonds — rather than a battleground of “who belongs.” Loss of a Young Person Leaving Home (Uni/Work): How Home Changes & How to Help Another kind of change happens when a son or daughter leaves home for university or work. No separation or divorce — just life moving forward. The physical home remains, but its rhythm changes. Parents (especially single parents) may feel proud and hollow at the same time. The home might feel quieter, familiar but different. For many, this is “empty-nest” grief. To navigate this transition: Allow yourself to feel sad; it’s a sign of love, not failure. Re-imagine your space: the room they left could become a hobby space, reading nook, or guest room. Keep connection alive: create rituals for when they visit — a favourite meal, a walk, a movie night. Support your child’s independence: celebrate their next step, even while making home ready for their return. For yourself: think about what you want now — new rhythms, friendships, routines. The home will feel different — but difference holds possibility. It doesn’t mean less; it means new. Practical Ways to Reconnect with “Home” Take a sheet of paper and write down: What home means to you  — not as a place, but as a feeling (e.g. “warmth, safety, laughter, routine, welcome”). What you believe love looks like , and how that connects to home and family (e.g. “preparing dinner and staying for a chat”, “listening when someone is tired”, “repairing broken things without complaint”). Three rituals or routines  you want to keep or create (e.g. “Every Sunday we cook together”, “At bedtime we each say one thing we’re grateful for”, “Friday we invite someone in for tea and slow chat”). Think about boundaries: who feels safe and welcome in your home, and what behaviour helps it stay that way? If there’s a  step-partner , have a welcome conversation: what do we do as a family? What stays the same, what changes, who does what? This helps children see there is clarity and shared vision. Consciously invite food  as a way to make home feel alive — it doesn’t have to be baking (unless that’s your thing). For many, it might be cooking a hearty meal, sharing a BBQ, experimenting with new recipes, or inviting friends over. The act of preparing and sharing food is often a way of saying, “You belong here.” Remember: People matter more than things.  You could have the most beautiful, Instagram-perfect house yet feel alone — or a modest space filled with laughter, presence and care, and that will be home. Final Thought Change tests what “home” really means. But it also reveals its strength. Whether you are rebuilding after loss, adapting to new beginnings, or reshaping what family looks like now — home can grow with you. Because home isn’t where everything stays the same. It’s where we keep choosing to show up, to care, and to connect — again and again.

Four teenage boys waved their arms in panic as I drove past the edge of a small wooded area. Instinctively, I stopped the car, reversed, and rolled down the window. The boys rushed to the front of the vehicle, hands on the bonnet, breathless. “Don’t go! Please help us—our friend’s crashed his bike and hurt his leg badly. He’s bleeding out!” I recognised one of them as my neighbour’s son. These were fourteen-year-olds—same school as my boy. I believed them. No hesitation. I leapt out of the car, grabbed towels from the boot—it was all I had—and shouted to my daughter, “Find the hazards!” as I sprinted into the woods. I heard the screaming before I saw him. That scream—raw pain, fear—it told me this was real. No exaggeration. A shirtless boy in denim shorts lay on the ground, one friend holding his leg in the air. Blood soaked through the shorts. “The bleeding won’t stop!” he cried. “I’m going to bleed out!” He was trying to apply pressure, but it wasn’t working. “We need a belt!” I shouted. My hands flew to my waist. I had one. Off it came. I knelt down, told him what I was doing, and fastened it tightly above the wound to form a tourniquet. Thank goodness for my workplace mandatory life support training. The bleeding slowed. He calmed. One boy was already on the phone to 999. I took over and explained the scene. They upgraded the call to the highest priority. “Expect up to a forty-minute wait,” the call handler said. “Don’t move him. Keep the leg elevated.” Around us, seven boys stood. Some hovered in the background, faces pale with panic. I talked calmly to them all, reassured them help was coming. “Thank you for stopping,” they kept saying. Only one car stopped. Mine. The ambulance arrived about twenty minutes later. The boy was stabilised and taken to hospital. Two days later, he was standing outside my house with all his friends, saying thank you. Then one of them said something that stopped me cold. “We tried to stop over fifty cars. You were the only one who stopped.” “What?” I asked. “Why?” “They thought we were messing about,” one of them said. “Grown men flipped us off and told us to get out of the road.” Another added, “It’s because we’re teenage boys. They were probably scared of us.” He wore a white Nike T-shirt, floppy hair, tanned. There was nothing threatening about him. Nothing about any of them made me feel afraid. But maybe having sons and working with young people changes how I see boys. “How does that make you feel?” I asked. “Like we’re not to be trusted. Just troublemakers. But we were trying to do the right thing. We were scared he might die.” They had done the right thing. They phoned 999. They looked after their friend. They flagged down help. They were brave, calm, resourceful—and ignored by almost every adult who passed them. This incident left me with three big questions. 1. Why didn’t more people stop? How are boys supposed to believe they’re valued if, even in their moment of desperate need, adults assume the worst? Where is our community responsibility? What’s happened to the idea that we look out for one another—especially our young people? 2. Why aren’t we teaching life-saving skills in schools? The injured boy’s mum is a nurse. He knew to elevate the leg and apply pressure. He’d even tried to make a tourniquet from his T-shirt, using a stick to tighten it. But panic, pain, and blood made it impossible for him to manage alone. Afterward, the boys said, “We should be taught basic first aid in school.” I agree. That night, I made my own son—thirteen and always on his bike—watch YouTube clips about emergency first aid. I also ordered a mini first aid kit for his backpack, alongside his bike tools. It’s a simple step. But it could save a life. 3. Why don’t we teach kids about apps like ‘What3Words’? The 999 call handler kept asking the boys for their “three words.” They had no idea what that meant. They kept trying to name the road they thought the woods were near. We talked about it afterwards. I explained how the What3Words app can pinpoint your exact location to a 3x3 metre square—essential in rural emergencies. They all downloaded it. I showed my kids too. Now it’s active on my phone permanently. One more thing the boys said shocked me. They didn’t text their parents to tell them what had happened. “We thought they’d panic and tell us to come home,” one said. “We needed to stay together in the woods. Talk about what happened. Make sense of it. So it didn’t feel so scary.” That post-incident debrief—that moment of shared storytelling and emotional processing—was exactly what they needed. And they knew it. It helps prevent trauma. It helps them make meaning out of chaos. But they didn’t feel adults would understand. That broke my heart a little. These boys were extraordinary: brave, respectful, emotionally intelligent. But they felt adults wouldn’t trust them, wouldn’t stop for them, wouldn’t listen to them—even when one of their friends might die. So I ask again: Would you have stopped? If not—why? And if you did—what would make you hesitate? Let’s not allow our own fear, assumptions, or biases stop us from helping when it matters most. Let’s give our boys the credit—and support—they deserve.

It’s 9:30pm. You’re just getting ready to wind down for the night  and your teen drops into conversation: “Mum, I think I have ADHD.” Or Autism. Or another neurodevelopmental condition. Perhaps they’ve even collected a few possible labels. For many parents, this can feel overwhelming, and it’s hard to know what to say next. If this has happened to you — you are not alone. We are seeing a significant rise in self-diagnosis among children and young people, and it’s not surprising. They’re growing up in an era of open conversations about mental health and neurodiversity. This is, in many ways, a wonderful cultural shift. The reduction of stigma around diagnoses is supporting more young people to seek help and understand themselves. But it’s also complex — and as a parent, it can feel like navigating a minefield. So let’s unpack what’s going on, and how we can support our children thoughtfully through it. Why Are So Many Young People Self-Diagnosing? Social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram have made it incredibly easy for teens to access content about mental health and neurodiversity. Some of this content is excellent — inclusive, normalising, empowering. But much of it is partial, inaccurate, or misleading. In fact, researchers have found that around half  of the ADHD, Autism and Tourette’s content on TikTok is not scientifically accurate. This matters, because the way the algorithm works means that once your child interacts with this kind of content, they’re likely to be shown more of it — creating what we call an “echo chamber.” Over time, this can heavily influence how a young person comes to understand their thoughts, feelings, and behaviours. Add to this the normal ups and downs of adolescence — the messy bedroom, the fidgeting in class, the social awkwardness — and you can begin to see how a teenager might start to wonder: Is this more than just being a teenager? Do I have ADHD? Am I Autistic? Sometimes, they may be right. But sometimes, what they’re experiencing might be better explained by anxiety, trauma, or just the normal ups and downs of growing up. The Adolescent Brain and the Pull of Belonging In Happy Families , I talk about how adolescence is a time of deep psychological and neurological transformation. During this period, young people become acutely tuned in to their peer group. Their brains are hard-wired to seek acceptance and connection with others — particularly those who seem to understand them. So it makes sense that social media can become a lifeline. Many young people who eventually receive a formal diagnosis of ADHD or Autism tell me that finding an online community of people “like them” was the first time they didn’t feel so alone. That feeling — of being seen and understood — is powerful. Adolescence is also a time of identity development. Teenagers are trying on different roles, working out who they are. Social media can offer a space to explore identity — but it can also create confusion. Some influencers glamorise or romanticise certain diagnoses, which can distort how a young person sees themselves and others. In some cases, young people may become so attached to a label they’ve identified with that they resist other explanations for their difficulties. This can make it hard to access appropriate support or to consider other strategies that might help — especially if the label itself becomes central to their sense of self. What This Means for Parents By the time a child or teenager comes to you with a self-diagnosis, they’ve likely consumed a lot of content. They may feel confident they understand themselves better than anyone else — including you. As a parent, this can feel intimidating, even scary. You may be worried about “saying the wrong thing” or challenging them too directly. Here are some ways to support your child with compassion and curiosity: 1. Stay Calm and Curious  Rather than jumping to conclusions — either dismissing their self-diagnosis or assuming it must be true — ask open questions. “What have you seen that made you think that?”  or “What parts of that content resonated with you?”  This helps your child feel heard and allows you to understand their internal world better. 2. Acknowledge Their Feelings  Whatever the label, underneath it is often a feeling — of struggling, of not fitting in, of needing to make sense of themselves. Validating that struggle is key: “It sounds like things have felt difficult for you. I’m really glad you told me.” 3. Seek Balance  Let them know that understanding ourselves is important, and that professional support can help bring clarity. Framing it as a process of exploration , rather than a “right” or “wrong” label, can help reduce anxiety and black-and-white thinking. 4. Consider Professional Support  A formal diagnosis, when appropriate, can be life-changing. I’ve worked with many young people who’ve received a diagnosis in late adolescence and felt it helped them reframe their whole childhood with more self-compassion. However, access to assessment can be difficult — especially in overstretched systems. Explore what support your child can access at school or through local services while you wait. It’s important to remember: a child does not need a formal diagnosis to receive support through an Education Health and Care Plan (EHCP). But many families understandably feel that without one, their child’s needs might not be taken seriously. The Positives in All This While this rise in self-diagnosis presents challenges, it’s also opening up vital conversations. We’re seeing stigma reduced, awareness raised, and young people feeling more empowered to talk about their mental health. The role of parents here is not to “shut down” these conversations, but to guide them — with warmth, perspective, and trust in your child’s capacity to grow. And yes, sometimes a teenager gets it wrong. But sometimes they get it right. Either way, we want our young people to feel supported in asking questions, seeking understanding, and building their identity in ways that are informed, thoughtful, and kind. If you're feeling out of your depth — that’s okay. You’re not alone, and you don’t need to have all the answers. What your child needs most is your connection, your openness, and your belief in them. Let’s keep the conversation going. Dr Beth Mosley MBE is a Consultant Clinical Psychologist and author of “Happy Families: How to Protect and Support Your Childs Mental Health”. She has worked with children, young people and families for over 20 years, both in the NHS and independently.

By a Clinical Psychologist & Mum of Three. Right now, we’re in the thick of Year 11. My daughter’s GCSEs are just weeks away. Revision timetables are taped to the fridge, highlighters are scattered across the table... and she is doing very little revising. And yes, I’m a clinical psychologist. But I’m also a mum. And despite everything I know professionally, my stress still spikes when I see her messaging friends on snapchat instead of reviewing Romeo and Juliet. I’ve been here before. My son—now thriving at university—also didn’t revise as much as I hoped he would. Back then, I felt helpless. Now, I can see he simply wasn’t ready yet. He  got there in his own time , and once he did, his motivation came from the inside. Not from me. So if you’re a parent feeling anxious, frustrated, or downright panicked—this blog is for you. Let’s talk about how we can support  ourselves  and our children through exam season without losing our minds (or relationships). 1. Your Calm is Contagious When we get anxious, our children feel it—even if we don’t say a word. Teenagers are incredibly sensitive to our emotional tone. If you’re walking on eggshells, lecturing, or hovering, they’ll pick up on that stress and may either shut down more or push back harder. ✅  Try this:  Before approaching your teen about revision, check in with yourself first. Take a few deep breaths. Drop your shoulders. Ask yourself, “Am I helping right now, or adding to the pressure?” 2. Replace Control with Curiosity It’s tempting to micromanage revision: “Have you started your science notes? When will you do English?” But in most cases, this leads to power struggles or shutdowns. Instead, try gentle curiosity: “I noticed you’re avoiding revision—what’s going on under the surface?” You might hear:  “I don’t know where to start, ” or  “What’s the point? I’m going to fail anyway.” When we stop focusing on the behaviour (not revising) and get curious about the  why , we’re far more likely to connect and help. 3. Trust the Long Game My son’s revision seemed less effortful than I hoped it would be at GCSEs. I was worried. But when he got to university, something clicked. He now sets his own goals, manages his own time, and works harder than I’ve ever seen. That motivation didn’t come from threats, nagging, or stress. It came from  maturing —and learning through experience. Some young people just need longer to get there. So if your child isn’t “there” yet, you haven’t failed. And neither have they. 4. Focus on What You Can Control You can’t sit the exams for them. You can’t make them revise. But you can: Keep meals regular and nourishing Encourage sleep and movementb Offer to be a revision buddy (only if they want that) Remind them: exams measure knowledge, not worth You can also model self-care—which they absolutely notice. Go for a walk. Journal. Step away from conflict when needed. This shows them what emotional regulation looks like in practice. 5. Compassion for You, Too It’s hard watching your child do less than you know they’re capable of. It’s even harder when your own anxiety gets triggered. You might feel powerless, resentful, guilty, or just plain tired. Those feelings are valid. Parenting through exam season is no small task. So give yourself permission to not be perfect. To not have the answers. To mess up and repair. Your child doesn’t need you to be calm all the time—they just need to know you love them,  even when things are messy. A Final Thought If your teen is revising hard—great. If they’re not—breathe. This is a moment, not the whole story. Your relationship with them is longer and more important than any exam result. Be the anchor. Keep showing up with quiet belief in who they are beyond the grades. That safety is what helps them grow into their potential—even if that timeline doesn’t match the school calendar. With you in it, A tired mum and psychologist, reminding us all: this too shall pass.

“Mum, you’ve got to watch this!”  my 15-year-old daughter insisted. “I don’t want to, it’s a bit dark,” I protested. “Seriously, it’s really good – let’s watch it together.” “Okay,” I conceded. And I’m so glad I did. Her persistence, and her desire to share the experience with me, opened up a conversation I hadn’t expected. Usually, she hates talking through programmes, but this time, she kept asking me to hit pause so we could discuss what was unfolding on screen. Those four hours of shared watching gave me a glimpse into her world, exposed me to cultural norms I hadn’t been fully aware of, and helped us reflect on the challenges of being a boy in 2025. Adolescence  hasn’t just captured my daughter’s attention — it’s gripped the nation. From LinkedIn to TikTok, people of all ages are talking about it. Some praise the show for bringing important issues to the forefront, while others, who have long campaigned on these topics, express frustration that a popular, simplified narrative is what finally captured public interest. Social media has only amplified its reach, with TikTok and Instagram driving the show’s virality and leaving kids feeling out of the loop if they haven’t watched it. Last week, BBC Radio Norfolk reached out, asking me to discuss the show, while The Moral Maze explored the frenzy by tackling the question:  “What’s wrong with men?”  So, what is it about this show that has sparked such a widespread conversation about boys? A Mother’s Perspective: Questions I Wasn’t Ready For I can vouch for its impact. The content is raw, engaging, and uncomfortably relatable. Issues like teen knife crime, toxic masculinity, and misogyny usually feel worlds away from my reality — but Adolescence brought them right to my doorstep, making me question what my almost 13-year-old son is doing for hours on end in his room. I’d always assumed he was just entertained, safe from harm and far from the dangers of the outside world. But am I being too complacent? “Why do you think he killed her?”  I asked my son and his 12-year-old friends who between them had watched much, if not all of the show. “Bullying,” they replied almost in unison. “He was being bullied by her and something snapped when she pushed him over.” “Some bits you felt sorry for him and some bits you felt aggressive towards him,” another added thoughtfully. I pressed them further:  “How did you make sense of how he did such an extreme thing?” “It’s because he’s a young mind, init,” one boy replied. “He doesn’t fully understand it and something about it — he just got so annoyed, so enraged that he couldn’t hold back anymore and just did it.” “Do you think anything else influenced him to do that in the moment?”  I asked. “No – just the online bullying.” When I brought up what adults were discussing — the potential influence of toxic masculinity and misogyny — the boys looked puzzled. “I didn’t pick up on any sexism at all,”  one said.  “I just thought he really liked the girl, and the girl was bullying him and making fun of him. But I don’t think it was because he thought he was better than her because she was a girl.” A Different Perspective: What the Boys Saw For this younger group of boys — arguably too young for the content, despite it featuring a boy their age — the wider societal narrative didn’t resonate with their interpretation of the programme. What struck me most was one boy’s chilling reflection: “It’s just so mad to think that could be any one of us who just snaps and kills someone.” While adults grapple with concerns about toxic masculinity and the erosion of positive male role models, these boys saw a much simpler — and perhaps more unsettling — reality unfold: a boy pushed to the brink by online bullying, with tragic consequences. What unsettled me most was the fact that they were left believing that this alone — without any deeper influences — could drive one of their peers to commit such an extreme act. The simplicity of that conclusion, and their quiet acceptance of it, was deeply worrying. Moral Maze and Masculinity Under Scrutiny This potential disconnect between adult discourse and young people’s understanding was at the heart of BBC Radio 4’s Moral Maze episode, “What’s Wrong with Men?”. The panel explored whether traditional notions of masculinity are outdated or if young men are struggling because positive male role models have been eroded by shifting societal norms. Are we asking too much of boys to redefine what it means to be a man, or are they left adrift without clear guidance? The Influence of Media and and the Nuances of Influencer Culture Given the viral success of Adolescence — propelled by social media — the role of media in shaping young people’s perceptions has been a key focus in some of the online conversations I have seen. People appear to be grappling with whether the show is a much-needed catalyst for change or if it risks reinforcing harmful stereotypes. While Adolescence has been praised for bringing urgent issues to the forefront, some critics argue that oversimplifying complex topics for entertainment could do harm. Discussions with young men about their attraction to Andrew Tate reveal some of the often-overlooked nuances of influencer culture. Many boys insist that they admire Tate’s success and entrepreneurial mindset, while distancing themselves from his misogynistic attitudes. But in doing so they may find themselves reproducing what they see online without recognising or understanding the potential harm. Worse still, social media algorithms — designed to prioritise engagement — can gradually push more extreme content their way, exposing them to distorted worldviews. This is where the role of friends and family becomes crucial. By encouraging these young people to pause, question, and critically engage with what they see, we can help them develop a more balanced and informed perspective. Parenting, Schools, and Society: Are We Equipped to Help Boys? This brings us to another crucial part of the conversation: the role of parents, educators, and communities in supporting boys. Are families and schools equipped to help boys navigate emotional vulnerability, peer expectations, and the pressures of modern masculinity? Or are we leaving them to figure it out alone, with social media filling the void? How able and skilled as adults, and society, are we at creating space for ‘both’ ‘and’, rather than a tendency to get stuck in ‘either’ ‘or’? How do we more flexibly consider that independence does not need to mean isolation and loneliness, that strength does not mean not experiencing vulnerability or emotional intimacy? The Moral Maze panel concluded that addressing these challenges requires shared responsibility — from families, schools, and society — rather than rushing to blame one cause. Adolescence is a turbulent time, where brain changes heighten teens’ sensitivity to social dynamics and make them more influenced by peers than adults. Their strongest questions during this stage are: “Where do I fit in?” and “How can I belong?” This deep need for connection means that experiences of bullying, exclusion, or feeling different can create enormous distress, impacting their well- being. In a world where loneliness and isolation are becoming more common, even one trusted adult can make a profound difference. Research shows that having supportive relationships in adolescence not only helps young people manage challenges in the moment but also builds resilience that carries into adulthood. Providing boys with opportunities for meaningful social connection — where they interact with positive male and female role models of different ages — creates a “nutritional” interpersonal diet. This broad exposure helps develop emotional intelligence, relational skills, and reduces feelings of isolation. Three Practical Takeaways for Supporting Boys 1. Be Curious, Not Judgmental Teenagers are hyper-aware of negative social cues, which is why your polite request to  “tidy your room”  might be interpreted as an aggressive demand. To create space for open dialogue, adopt a curious, non-judgmental approach. Ask questions like: “What do you think about that?” “How did that make you feel?” “What do your friends say about this?” When they feel heard, they’re more likely to engage in meaningful conversations and consider different perspectives. Pay attention to your body language and tone — teens are highly sensitive to perceived criticism. These conversations often flow better during activities that don’t involve direct eye contact, like driving, walking, or tidying up together. 2. Help Them Develop a Flexible View of Masculinity Rigid ideas of masculinity — whether imposed by society or family — can leave boys either struggling to conform or feeling lost. Ideally, we want to help them develop a  personalised and adaptable  sense of what it means to be a man. If your son makes a comment that shocks you, resist the urge to shut it down. Dig deeper. Black-and-white statements often hide shades of grey. When my son told me he liked Andrew Tate, I had to suppress my initial reaction to say,  “You shouldn’t — he’s dangerous.”  That would’ve shut the conversation down. Instead, I asked,  “What is it that you like about him?”  His answer? “ The cars, the business success.”  This opened the door to exploring alternative role models — successful entrepreneurs who didn’t promote harmful messages. By showing genuine interest, I got a glimpse into what mattered to him, and he left the conversation with a more critical perspective moving forward. 3. Be Mindful of Throwaway Comments Boys and men who hear repeated messages that they are  “toxic ” or  “not needed”  may internalise these narratives, impacting their self-worth and hope for the future. Instead, think about the role models they’re exposed to and encourage conversations that acknowledge the challenges they face. This helps boys build awareness of their emotional and physical needs and develop healthy ways to meet them. For instance, if a boy feels undervalued or unimportant, guide him toward activities that help him  feel capable and appreciated . If he loves sports, suggest joining a team. If he enjoys responsibility, encourage helpful roles at home or school. Without these positive outlets, boys may seek validation in less healthy spaces, where harmful behaviours or ideas might offer a misplaced sense of belonging. A Conversation Long Overdue Adolescence has clearly struck a nerve, bringing conversations about masculinity into living rooms across the country. The challenges facing young men are far more complex than any TV show can fully capture. Yet by making these issues so accessible, the show has ignited a conversation — one that we can no longer afford to ignore.

I feel very privileged to have been interviewed by #romankemp and the amazing production team to help make this documentary. It will be aired on BBC 3 on Wednesday 1st Nov, 9pm. I did not make the Final Cut because the focus is on young people and their views on mental health and the challenges they face. Roman has worked hard to really get inside the world that young people are facing today and their experiences of struggling with their #mentalhealth Roman and the team were deeply interested in understanding this complex area from a multiple range of views. Roman is advocating for 💯 coverage of Mental Health Support Teams. His campaign has gained traction and the #conservatives are listening. Roman, like me and so many other campaigners, workers and parents - wants to save young lives from #suicide https://www.bbc.co.uk/bitesize/articles/zvq6vj6 @romankemp and BBC have pulled together a comprehensive parent toolkit on supporting your child’s #mentalhealth - with top tips from many experts (including me) on talking with your #child or #teen as well as what to do and where to go for support or help. Please share with the adults you know - this information can #savelives and raises #suicideawareness and ultimately will help #suicideprevention

I have spent my whole career as a clinical psychologist working with families who are struggling. Therefore the decision to have my own children was one I made fully aware of just how hard parenthood can be. With the risks of parenthood emblazoned on my mind, I perhaps rather naively believed it might be easier for me, as I had the knowledge, and hopefully the skills to navigate this territory. However, I quickly discovered, that no amount of studying or sitting alongside other parents could prepare me for the emotional hijack that occurred as my body and mind became absorbed in the world of my baby. Following the birth of my first child, my aspiration to be a perfect mother fell apart as I realised that pursuing perfection led me away from being the mother I needed to be. I had a lot more to learn! Blindsided by love I knew that having children was a huge physical and emotional experience and required a re-calibration of my world. However, I was unprepared for my deep obsession with my baby, excluding all else. I first discovered that to meet my baby’s needs, I had to let go of many things I usually tried to do well and, importantly, not feel like I had failed somehow. Easier said than done! In the early days, I couldn’t maintain a tidy house, a home-cooked meal, or attend to my other relationships, including my husband at the time. But being fiercely independent, found it hard to accept help, or even acknowledge just how tough I was finding it. In hindsight, I would have been less self-critical and let my vulnerability as a new parent create space for other important people to support me. Tip 1: don’t see needing help as a weakness. To be a good parent we benefit from other trusted people to support us. It really does take a village to raise a child. What my children taught me about myself The experience of parenthood has much to teach us about ourselves and life. On this journey our minds are often busy juggling questions about who we are, our approach to parenting and our own experiences of being parented. What bits of our childhood do we want to replicate, and which do we want not to repeat? We likely set out to provide our children with love and stability, however, life throws curveballs which may undermine our resources to do this. I remember losing someone very dear to me and nearly falling apart. During this time, my children were a balm and a burden. I could see them watching me, worrying about me. They tried to find ways to comfort me or get my attention through bold behaviours. I wondered how I could meet their needs whilst feeling so fragile, so afraid of further loss. In this storm of mixed emotions, I started to appreciate how my mindset and ability to reframe my experiences would be critical to how my children made sense of life and their emotions. Tip 2: approach your parenting challenges with kind curiosity. You may find opportunities to face some of your own fears; meaning you can then support your child to face theirs. The early years (0 to 5) The early years are all about raw emotion and parents play a crucial role in helping children cope with distress and learn about feelings. As uncomfortable as they are, difficult feelings are important and can tell us about what is happening in our child’s world. It is often easier to know how to respond and resolve physical pain or discomfort (I knew how to comfort my child if they had fallen and hurt themselves or how to feed them if they were hungry). I found it much harder to know how to respond when my child was in emotional pain. I learned I wanted to protect my children from these feelings, and at times attempted to do this by unintentionally dismissing them (“It’s not that bad”), distracting from them (“Some sweets will make you feel better”), or sometimes even punishing them (“Go to your room”). The hardest, but often most rewarding thing I have had to learn, is to be curious about my child’s difficult feelings and sit with them rather than deny or run away from them (despite the way they make me feel). When children are younger we can do this in how we use language. For example, when our child is angry, instead of using prescriptive language: “You should calm down”, we can use descriptive language: “You are feeling angry.” We can give our children a space to listen without judgement. In this space we can validate these feelings “It makes sense you would feel sad, you really care about friendship.” And then help work out how to meet the needs underlying these feelings “What can you do that will help you feel cared for by others?” This enables us to discover more about what is important in our child’s world. It also helps them learn to regulate and use emotions meaningfully. Tip 3: don’t be afraid of difficult feelings. Connecting to your child in their unhappy moments helps them learn to understand their feelings and gives you insight into what is important to them. Middle childhood (6 to 12) Parenthood shone a light on my tendency to over-emphasise mistakes, be quick to self-criticise and avoid risk for fear of messing up. I found myself disproportionally worrying about unexpected events and over-analysing my children’s struggles. I worked out that if I did not pay attention to my tendency for hyper-criticism and over-focus on the negative possibilities, it could rub off unhelpfully on my children. I got fed up with hearing my constant “Be careful!” or “Why did you do that?!?” dampening my kids' enthusiasm for life. Instead, I wanted them to be able to handle mistakes and setbacks and be open to trying new things, even if they might struggle initially. As our children learn through what we do, not what we say, I had to overcome my tendency to focus on getting everything right and be more open to paying attention to how I handle getting it wrong. On these occasions, I very deliberately asked myself these questions: What emotional response does the situation create in me (e.g. frustration, shame, anger, fear)? In order to cope with this feeling do I: blame others, minimise the issue or become overly critical/punitive? Can I sit with the feeling and consider: why is this important to me? Is my response proportionate or exaggerated? What can this situation teach me about myself, life, and others? How can I use this situation to learn and grow? As hard as it is admitting “I got it wrong”, especially to my children, I have found they love it when I say sorry. Apologising once things have calmed down means I can take responsibility for my part in a disagreement (“I am sorry for losing my temper”) and this frees us up to consider what went wrong and what we could do differently next time. My children have learned through these moments: It is okay to get things wrong, having difficult emotions is normal and if we talk together we can usually put it right. Tip 4: mistakes can be opportunities for our children and us to learn and grow. Adolescence As my eldest child has headed off to university, I am acutely aware of learning to let go. Allowing my teens to do what they can for themselves has sometimes left me slightly lost as a parent. I am a fan of Christine Carter’s principle of going from “Manager to Coach” – shifting from organising my older children’s lives to giving them the space to make decisions and develop their own skills and interests. I got this wrong for a while, trying to focus my teens on what was important to me. I have learned that just like when they were younger what they love best is me taking an interest in their world. I found this hard initially, but eventually embraced their more grown-up pursuits enabling me to revive some of my interests (my teens love live music too)! They often force me out of my comfort zone to take a few risks (“You’re so boring Mum, come on – surprise us!”) and their desire for new experiences encourages me to try new things too. They are keen to discuss challenging topics, meaning I’ve had to broaden my thinking and accept that I don’t have all the answers. If I can tolerate some of the feelings this brings for me (panic that my children’s lens on the world is so broad with the influence of technology!) I get the benefits of learning more about them and the world. Tip 5: the biggest gift for our children at any stage is our availability – time to just be with them in their world. A small daily window (even if it is just 10 minutes) of our undivided attention can help our children feel seen and understood and re-inject energy into our lives. Finally My struggles and acknowledgements of the less-perfect parts of my life and personality have helped me in my role as a psychologist and mother. They’ve given me a profound empathy, compassion and understanding of the complexities of parenthood and the challenges we all face. This has made me a more humble and honest person willing to embrace the messiness of life and privilege authentic relationships above all else.

I am dreading dropping my eldest son at University this weekend. I can’t quite get my head around it. Firstly, how has 18 years passed so quickly? Secondly, how do I drop him without burdening him with my emotions? I want him to remember this day without images of a tear-streamed mother putting a damper on the excitement of his next chapter. I also don’t want to ignore the specialness of this moment and how proud I am to see the man he has blossomed into. These mixed-up feelings are all too familiar. Surely, I should have gotten used to the dilemmas of parenthood by now? But I have come to realise it doesn’t necessarily get easier to know what to hide and what to reveal. When to hold on, when to let go. How to support your child in their vulnerable moments, when these moments are often your most vulnerable too. I should have all the answers. After-all, I’m a clinical psychologist who has been working with children in mental health services for over two decades. But the last 18 years with my own three kids has taught me I don’t, and maybe that’s a good thing. Learning to let my kids fail, feel pain, solve their own problems, do things their way and become their own person has been a huge challenge. Firstly, I know what can go wrong, and secondly, I have all this knowledge, which although helpful becomes difficult to apply when my own emotions are involved. My three children are all so different and as such, something that works for one, doesn’t work for another. My sons prefer a low-key approach, my daughter is high-drama and if I respond calmly to situations or her frustrations, it’s as if she feels I do not care. My calmness is reassuring to her brothers, but to her, it feels like I am not bothered. It’s like she needs me to have a big reaction to know I get it. I don’t want to go straight to a big reaction, it’s not my style! I can sometimes feel myself shutting down as she gets more irate, this often ends up with her behaving more extremely to get the reaction she is looking for. Finally, I snap and explode. She seems immediately content. I move to feeling the agony of saying something I wish I hadn’t. Hating myself for feeling so out of control, so angry. Rupture and repair. The number of times I have spoken about this with families I work with. It is such an important part of being a parent of building relationships – being able to own the bits where you have got it wrong, or maybe made things worse - finding resolution and opportunities for healing from hurt. The number of times I have hoovered outside my children’s bedroom doors, bracing myself for owning my bits, acknowledging my weaknesses and offering a chance to think together about what we could do differently next time. Saying sorry isn’t easy. Talking about the tough stuff, even harder. But it is often the conversations I have had with my children following a disastrous day out or a disagreement that have given us the chance to share our perspectives and learn why each other's emotions are important. To grow and learn about each other, and what we care about. This realisation was never more poignant than five years ago when my then nine-year-old daughter heard the news that her dad was having a baby with his partner. She was initially really excited. Having two brothers, she began to consider life with a baby sister and not being the only girl in the family. Around a week after receiving the news, I found her crying in bed. I crept in beside her in the dark and lay with her. “What’s up?” I asked. She said it was about the new baby between sobs. She didn’t want her dad to have a new baby. She was scared that it would mean he would love her less, that she would stop being so special to him. She asked, was it possible she might see Dad less, especially as the new baby would be with him all of the time? For me, these had been my own fears when I heard the news, so it took a lot of internal resource to put aside how I was feeling, and instead focus on what my daughter needed in that moment. I couldn’t take away this pain, I couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t struggle with some of the things she was starting to worry about. I wanted to be able to offer all the solutions, tell her it would be fine, not to be silly. I’d talk to her dad and make sure this didn’t happen. But I didn’t. I lay there, bearing the pain (which was crushing me too), staying calm and loving, sitting with it so she didn’t need to feel afraid or ashamed of her feelings. Honouring her world, her experience. For a long time, I lay with her in the dark, our arms touching, hearing her cry and feeling her rapid breathing; my quiet presence eventually soothed her. This moment was hard for me, I was also in emotional pain. But I was able to comfort my daughter by sitting with her feelings and showing my care for her in my body language and presence. I was honest about the fact that I couldn’t solve the problem or take away the pain; that I didn’t have all the answers. In doing this, I supported my daughter to feel that despite so much uncertainty, her feelings were understandable and bearable. After sitting with this pain, we were able to think together about what her feelings might be telling her, which bits to listen to and which to challenge. We worked out together that her feelings were telling her being loved by her dad is one of the most important things for her. That the new baby was making her feel scared that her dad’s love might run out or go just to the new baby. We could then think about whether these thoughts were accurate predictions based on her past experiences (thoughts are not facts). When we established that dad had not loved her any less following the birth of her baby brother who was now five, we could then explore how she could let her dad know this was her worry, so he did not unintentionally reinforce this fear. Earlier on, she had talked about not seeing him that weekend. Following our talk, we were able to work out that this course of action was based on fear, rather than helping her feel loved by her dad. She recognised she might need more quality time with him for a while, not less. I often think back to this moment in my daughter’s bed when seeing my children struggle or indeed find myself in emotional pain. It reminds me that often our children (and ourselves) do better if we do not rush them away from their feelings. That the overwhelming urge to solve the problem, provide the answer or just simply try to take the pain away – can prevent them/us make sense of the challenges they/we are facing and doing the very things that will help overcome the pain in the longer term. So this weekend at university, as I experience the pain of letting go and saying goodbye to my son’s childhood, I will not be able to entirely hide these feelings. But 18 years of training will hopefully mean I can give him what he needs on that day, the interest and excitement about his new world – and the belief he will be okay. I can also celebrate accepting that new chapters don’t necessarily mean less love or connection – they often provide opportunities for new ways of relating and a growth in the depth and maturity of the relationship – not just with him, but with my other children too. I will hold onto the courage my daughter showed in acknowledging her vulnerability of loving someone so much that you feel scared of losing them, accepting things will change, and make sure in letting go I hold onto the new possibilities the future holds.

Girlhood is a trend that has gone viral on Tiktok and has captivated the hearts and minds of girls all over the world. Inspired by Greta Gerwig’s Barbie movie, girls explicitly name what makes girlhood unique on their TikTok posts in a way they may not have yet done. Whether you have watched Barbie or not, as an adult, you have a sense that ‘girlhood’ brings unique challenges to young people of this generation. My 14-year-old daughter’s dilemmas and preoccupations are similar to mine at the same age but somehow seem more complicated. Social media and increased expectations have made being a young person more multi-layered than ever. As a clinical psychologist working in children’s mental health services, I am seeing the fallout of these challenges on a daily basis. With the explosion in mental health difficulties in young people over the last few years - compounded by the lack of services to support these children and their families – it is still a surprise that it takes an average of ten years for a young person to get the mental health support they need. If you are a parent or a young person, this is ten years too long to wait. #girlhood – teens take mental health into their own hands Teenagers I talk to tell me that they don’t trust adults to give them the help they need; instead, they turn to the online world for answers. This is not just in the realm of mental health but also in other areas too. They also hugely rely on each other for support and advice. The challenge is that their fellow teens, whether they are known to them or not, may struggle to provide wise advice despite being able to relate to their challenges. The cost is that young people get stuck co-ruminating (making each other’s problems/worries bigger), key members of a group may take on the psychological burden of their friend’s struggles (often resulting in them struggling with anxiety or related difficulties), and young people may be sharing unhealthy and unhelpful ways to cope with difficult situations or distress (like self-harm). The challenge is that the teenage brain is wired to be more influenced by peer group (other teenagers) than adults (a biological throwback to Stone-age times when teens needed to flock together in order to avoid being eaten by a predator). So as wise as us adults might be – teenagers are more likely to listen to their peers than us. The Girlhood As a psychologist and a Mother I have been waiting for the time that adolescents might take the challenges of their time into their own hands… the moment the influencers realise that they can provide a narrative that gives a space for young people to be honest about their struggles and provide non-dramatical, balanced advice (so counter the way even as adults we are behaving on social media). 'The Girlhood: Written by girls, read by girls' seems to have done that with surprising ease this summer. The simplicity of the concept (girlhood, a blog dedicated to being able to share the highs and lows of being a girl, inspired by Barbie) is touching and brave. Two 18-year-old girls (in the USA) Mia and Sophie who have been through tough times have created what they see as a safe space online to share stories, offer hope, and provide balanced advice for shared challenges and feelings that many young people are facing at this time. Girlhood: The viral agony aunt site for teens blowing up on TikTok I have read the dilemmas that young people are sharing and can see how these dilemmas are totally relatable to so many teens across the world. I have been surprised by the balanced wisdom of the responses of the founders of the website and encouraged to see they offer real nourishment in their guidance. Based on their own experiences and learning, what is intuitive advice to them seems to be grounded in lots of the advice I might offer as a parent or in my role as a mental health professional. They cover topics and dilemmas like “How do I become okay with not having a lot of friends?” “I feel like I haven’t achieved enough?” “They have a separate group chat without me?” “My best friend got a boyfriend” “I don’t know how to get over my ex” “I like him but I don’t want to ruin our friendship” “I’m 19 have never been in a relationship” “Over these past few months, I think I’ve fallen for her” They take real questions from young people and offer guidance that encapsulates many of the things we would encourage as parents or in the self-improvement world. They are recruiting other advisors to support as they recognise the demand is outstripping their capacity. Whether these advisors are able to offer such grounded advice – time will tell. They make it clear at the beginning of their website what they are not (mental health professionals) and clearly signpost to organisations that can support if this is needed. It is important that Mia and Sophie get the support they need to hold so many of the world’s girls' worries and challenges – it can feel like a huge responsibility and pressure and they may get questions that they feel are out of their depth to answer (they say they signpost people to specialist help when this happens). I wonder if a voluntary sector organisation could team up with them to provide additional support for them. Step into their world Our young people describe feeling let down by a generation of adults who do not understand their issues and lack the mental health knowledge they have, based on their learning on this in school and their online interests. Most young people have someone they follow who provides mental health guidance or encouragement. The surge in interest in this site and @msgirlhood on Instagram suggest young people are desperate for good, relatable advice and help. As adults, we have a responsibility to find ways to step inside the world of our young people and consider how we can support them to make sense of the challenges they face. We need to understand what mental health is (not just something we talk about more) and how to give our children meaningful answers and support in the areas they are feeling alone and lost in. Loneliness is a huge challenge for the youth population - it literally kills. We are competing with an addictive online world that offers instant answers and round-the-clock availability – if we want to give our children a balanced experience of childhood we have to step up to offer them the opportunities they need to not only be supported by their peers, but us too. It is not an either, or, it has to be both. Having watched Barbie with my daughter, I was surprised by the different emotions it evoked in us. For my daughter, she described sadness, which surprised me. She said her friends felt that too. Is there something about the nostalgia these girls are feeling as they grow up too fast in a world preoccupied with values that don’t deeply resonate with them – but they get caught up with the social pressure to conform? It’s complex. I think we can have more conversations to help make sense of the complexity, without judgement. There are things for us to learn from our young people as they navigate the challenges of being a teenager in this ever-changing world. I wonder if we can see a similar phenomenon for boys – boyhood – something that gives the boys who have ended up following Andrew Tate, or other controversial characters, something to be influenced by positively and help make sense of where boyhood fits in with this changing world. Again, boys describe the complexity of making sense of who they are, and who they are pressurised to be or become. They face similar challenges and may need different ways of coping with them. Published by The British Psychological Society

Consultant clinical psychologist and author of new parenting book Happy Families, Dr Beth Mosley, shares her advice for how to support your child through life’s challenges. The emotional X-ray When our child is in physical pain, we observe their physical symptoms (e.g., temperature, visible damage, acuity of pain) and ask questions — ‘Where’s the pain? What kind of pain? Do you feel sick?’ These observations are our attempt to work out the underlying cause of our child’s physical symptoms and, most importantly, to establish what the best treatment for help is, if required. It might be that the illness will pass with the body’s immune system simply needing time to do its job. It could just benefit from rest and perhaps a painkiller (e.g., a cold virus, chicken pox, a blister). Other times, there may be something that requires treatment in order for the body to heal properly or stop a deterioration in health (e.g., appendicitis, badly broken limb, bacterial infection). As a parent, your anxiety about your child’s physical symptoms is to ensure that you take the necessary action for your child to receive the appropriate treatment. You wouldn’t want to use a painkiller to mask something that needed treatment and, left untreated, could be life-threatening (e.g., meningitis), or impact on your child’s recovery from an injury (e.g., a broken limb that requires a cast/surgery). Unfortunately, we don’t have an emotional X-ray and therefore, it’s harder to take this same approach with emotional discomfort or pain. We may see the symptoms of distress (e.g., crying, moodiness, withdrawal, not eating, self-harm). We might feel confused or have our own emotional response (just like when we see physical discomfort or pain) of anxiety or worry. We could ask what’s wrong or guess something is wrong, but we don’t necessarily have the tools or vocabulary to discover what the underlying cause of the pain could be, what it means, and the best course of action. Perhaps we unintentionally suggest the equivalent of a painkiller (e.g., distraction, watch a screen, have a treat, focus on the positives, ‘it will be alright’) to mask a problem that our child needs more help to understand, rather than distract away from or ignore. By doing this, we may accidentally reinforce the idea that emotional discomfort is something to be avoided if possible. Research has shown that those who are able to notice and tolerate their emotions do better in terms of their wellbeing. If we’re able to learn to tune into strong emotions, we can discover they may be telling us something about (a) what’s important to us; and (b) what’s happening in our life. By understanding this, we can try to establish what needs to change and if we need help from others to support that change. As parents, we can play a crucial role in supporting our children with: becoming more emotionally aware; helping them turn towards, rather than run away from or block, painful emotions; learning how to understand how emotions might give information about what’s most important to us. We can do this through sitting with the feelings alongside our children, exploring values, and using them to guide us on what to do next. Sitting with the feelings When my then nine- year-old daughter heard the news that her dad was having a baby with his new partner, she was initially really excited. Having two brothers, she began to consider life with a baby sister and not being the only girl in the family. Around a week after she received the news, I found her crying in her bed after I thought she had gone to sleep. I crept into her bed in the dark and lay with her. ‘What’s up?’ I asked. She said it was about the new baby between sobs. She didn’t want Dad to have a new baby. She might not like it. With my emotional guess-ray, I wondered if she might feel sad, angry, insecure (fearful of rejection) and possibly a little envy, as this baby would be with Dad every day of the week. With a bit more reassurance that I was hearing her and not judging her, she went on to explain she was scared that having a new baby would mean her dad would love her less, that she would stop being so special to him. In fact, she asked, was it possible he could stop loving her at all, especially as the new baby would be with him all the time? For me, these had been all of my fears when I heard the news, so it took a lot of internal resource to put aside how I was feeling, and instead focus on what my daughter needed right now. I couldn’t take away this pain, I couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t struggle with some of the things she was starting to worry about. I wanted to be able to offer all the solutions, tell her it would be fine, to not be silly. I’d talk to her dad and make sure this wouldn’t happen. But I didn’t. I lay there, bearing the pain (which was crushing me, too), but staying calm and loving, sitting with it so she didn’t need to feel afraid or ashamed of it. Honouring her world, her experience. For a long time, I lay with her in the dark, our arms touching, hearing her cry and feeling her rapid breathing; my quiet presence eventually soothed her. Many years after this experience, I listened to a podcast with professor and author Brené Brown, where she talked about a similar incident with her teenage daughter experiencing a break-up with her boyfriend. She, like me, had sat on her daughter’s bed, in the dark, wanting to take away the pain her daughter was going through. The whole time she was looking at the light switch on the wall thinking, ‘This is so hard; I just want to turn on that light and take away the pain’. But she didn’t. She understood sitting with her daughter in the dark at that moment was her main task as parent. So often we do not want our children to experience difficult emotions. Instead, we want to take this away or solve the problem. But learning to go through this emotion and understanding it’s safe to do this can help a young person develop resilience and a sense that when hard things happen, they have the skills to deal with it. As parents, we don’t have to pretend we know everything or that we’re always in control. The key is to show up, see our children and provide them with the reassurance that we can find a way through this challenge, even if it does hurt. When our children are in distress, the first thing we need to do is sit alongside them and acknowledge their feelings without trying to move them too quickly from the pain they’re in. The above is an extract from Happy Families: How to Protect and Support Your Child's Mental Health (Bluebird, £16.99) by Dr Beth Mosley. Published by Belfast Telegraph