How to Help Your Teen Explore Different Career Paths (Without Pushing Your Own Agenda)
Last month I was folding clean laundry in my 16-year-old Mia’s bedroom, piling her soccer practice gear on the chair and dodging the half-eaten peanut butter granola bar on her desk. She was propped up on her bed scrolling TikTok, and when I asked if she’d filled out her rising junior course registration worksheet, she mumbled something I couldn’t hear. I asked again, and she tossed her phone on the comforter and said, “My counselor wants three possible careers for the form. I can only think of ‘something that doesn’t make me want to cry every day’.”
My first instinct was to panic. I started listing things I thought she’d love: “What about vet camp? You adored playing with the puppies that week!” She rolled her eyes and said, “The puppies were great. The part where the lead vet said she works 60-hour weeks and missed her own kid’s birthday last year for an emergency C-section on a golden retriever? Not great.” I bit my tongue before I could list more options I thought were “good enough” for her, because I remembered what it felt like to be 16 and told what my path should be. When I was her age, my mom sat me down and insisted teaching was the only logical choice—stable, good benefits, perfect for raising a family later. I didn’t question it, went through my education degree, and didn’t admit I hated standing in front of a classroom every day until I was 28. I switched to writing curriculum for an online program, and it’s a much better fit, but I wasted 10 years doing something I never actually wanted just because it was the only option I’d ever really explored. I didn’t want that for Mia.
The next week, after soccer practice we stopped for iced coffee on the way home, and I mentioned a coworker’s brother runs a small indie gaming company 15 minutes from our house. I had to drop off some new curriculum materials there on Tuesday afternoon, so I didn’t make a big deal out of it, just said, “You can come with, skip last period, get a glazed donut from the shop downtown after. You can see what their designers do all day if you want.” She shrugged and said sure, I think mostly for the skipped school and donut.
When we got there, he didn’t give her a stuffy presentation. He just let her sit next to him while he adjusted the color on a character’s jacket and answered her questions when she asked. She found out he took a two-year graphic design program instead of a four-year degree, that he works from home three days a week, that he gets paid to play test new games before they launch. On the drive home, she didn’t gush about how it was her new lifelong dream—she just asked, “Do you think those two-year programs actually give you enough training to get a job?” That was more than I’d gotten out of her in a month of awkward career talks.
A week later, our bathroom sink clogged up. My neighbor Joe, a local plumber, came over to fix it after work. I was in the middle of making dinner, so I asked Mia to hold a flashlight and pass him tools while I stirred pasta. She complained the whole time, but she did it. After he left, she said she had no idea plumbers set their own schedules, that Joe makes more money than I do at my job, that he likes it because every day he solves a different problem and gets to leave it at work when he goes home. “I always thought plumbing was just what people did if they flunked out of college,” she said. “No one ever tells you it’s a job people actually like.” That hit me—most of the careers kids hear about are doctors, teachers, lawyers, engineers. All the other jobs that a huge chunk of people do never get any air time in high school guidance offices.
I’ve been doing this low-stakes exploring for a couple months now, and I’ve figured out a few small things that work way better than sitting down for a formal “career planning” talk. First, stop asking “what do you want to be when you grow up?” That question makes every kid shut down, because it feels like they have to have the answer right now, and if they don’t, they’re failing. Instead, ask tiny, low-stakes questions. After we watch a home renovation show, I’ll say “Which job on that crew sounded the least boring to you?” After a day of school, I’ll ask “What’s one task you did today that didn’t feel like a total chore?” Those questions get them thinking about what they enjoy, without the pressure of a lifelong decision.
Second, use the people you already know instead of paying for expensive summer camps or internships. Most people love talking about their job to a curious teen—my event planning friend jumped at the chance to have Mia help set up a small baby shower last weekend, my cousin who’s a vet tech let her come in and watch a day of regular check-ups for free. You don’t need a fancy program; just 1 or 2 hours of helping or shadowing gives your kid way more information than any online career quiz.
Third, it’s okay if they only figure out what they don’t like. I was originally disappointed when Mia crossed vet off her list after camp, but that’s a win. She didn’t waste a year of college and thousands of dollars figuring out the long hours aren’t for her. Exploring doesn’t mean picking a path—it means crossing off the ones that don’t fit.
Mia still hasn’t settled on that third spot on the course registration form. Last week after helping with the baby shower, she wrote “event planning” in the blank, then crossed it out yesterday and wrote “dog daycare owner” instead. I don’t know if she’ll end up doing any of these things. Right now, what’s working is just giving her small peeks at different lives, no pressure to commit. We’ll see where it goes.
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