“Mom, it’s starting!” My 14-year-old daughter, Emily, calls out from the couch, where she’s snuggled up with our dog beneath a large blanket—something she’s been doing for hours each day for over a year now.
She didn’t always spend so much time in front of the screen, but then the pandemic hit. My husband lost his job, our college-aged son and daughter returned home, and Emily finished seventh grade via Zoom. Those initial months, when we were all feeling fragile, led to a shift in our family dynamics. Television became our shared escape.
At first, I resisted the extra screen time. Although I grew up watching TV, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. My childhood television was small and lacked color, kept in a chilly room off the kitchen; whenever a show aired, we’d drag in chairs, almost like we were gathering around a campfire. I preferred books, finding joy in reading from a young age, often losing track of time as I immersed myself in another world.
While my husband and I grew up with different views on screen time, we both recognized the science. Research indicates that young kids who watch a limited amount of educational television show cognitive improvement, but excessive viewing is linked to lower adult I.Q. scores. As parents, we understood that outside of “Sesame Street,” screens should be limited.
Even now, we have just one TV in our home. The only gaming console is a dusty Wii. On ordinary nights, we prioritized homework and family dinners. When the kids watched shows or movies on weekends, the content had to be suitable for our youngest, who is eight years younger than our oldest. The three would gather on the couch while the dog lounged on the rug below.
Then came 2019. We started enjoying dinner with shows like “The Office” and “Freaks and Geeks,” paired with comfort foods like lasagna. The dog joined us on the couch. During moments of worry about the impact of our TV habits, my husband cited a NIH-funded study stating that screen time isn’t necessarily harmful for kids—the key issue being it might prevent them from engaging in other activities, like playing outside or sleeping, which also affects avid readers.
Despite my concerns, especially for Emily, the older kids eventually returned to their colleges, leaving her to attend school from her bedroom, often with the curtains drawn and her camera off. She maintained decent grades but stopped attending electives, including music—a passion she’d had since learning to play the baritone horn in sixth grade. For the first time, she struggled in a class; “Walking for Fitness” had replaced physical education, and she refused to step outside.
We supplemented her vitamin D intake, but her complexion became pale. She wore the same hoodie daily and dark eyeliner around her eyes. Clothes piled up on the floor, and dishes accumulated on her bedside table. This wasn’t just typical teenage rebellion; in a chaotic world, Emily was asserting her autonomy.
I understood that parents shouldn’t try to fix their children’s problems. However, even before the pandemic, suicide was the second leading cause of death for kids aged 10 to 14. While I didn’t think Emily was suicidal, her self-neglect worried me. Current estimates suggest 20% of American teens experience depression, with up to 30% of adolescent girls self-harming. One night, while she slept, I checked her arms for scars—thankfully, there were none.
Experts advised empathetic communication, but Emily wouldn’t engage with me or a therapist. When I encouraged her to see friends, she became anxious and tearful. I thought that if I could persuade her to care for herself, she might feel better, so I nagged about her choices—about the hours she could be enjoying outside rather than scrolling through TikTok or tending to a virtual garden. We often clashed.
Then, a few weeks ago, Emily and I stumbled upon “Stranger Things.” I discovered the show—Emily had already binged the first three seasons on her laptop. I typically avoided stories about missing children, as they felt too distressing. However, she wanted to recap the series before the fourth season, and asked me to join her.
With my husband back at work, we settled on the couch, watching 25 episodes over a week. The show follows a group of kids navigating adolescence while battling supernatural threats. As the story unfolded, the characters’ transformations mirrored Emily’s own changes over the past year.
The series was a portal into Emily’s world, providing a space for connection. I began to see the value in spending those hours together—immersed in a drama we both related to: a community grappling with a plague, with darkness at its core. Side by side, we discussed everything from crushes to a world-threatening contagion, drawing parallels to our own experiences with coronavirus. The frightening scenes offered me a chance to hold her close, bridging the emotional gap that had formed between us.
Though it didn’t change overnight, that week marked a turning point. I worried less about Emily in her dim room, and she started opening the curtains. She agreed to masked outdoor meetups with friends and even shared her music playlist with me during car rides.
With the teaser for the new season of “Stranger Things” just released, we’re eager to watch it together. Because, ultimately, the heroes always prevail. Those are the kind of odds we need right now.
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Summary:
Navigating the challenges of parenting during the pandemic, Claire Anderson finds solace and connection with her teenage daughter, Emily, through the popular series “Stranger Things.” As they bond over the show, they discuss relatable themes, ultimately bridging the emotional gap that formed during a challenging year. Their shared experience transforms their relationship, leading to improved communication and connection.