Why Your Teen Might Ask ‘Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?’ And What To Do Next
I was scraping dried spaghetti sauce off dinner plates, the kitchen still sticky with steam from the garlic bread, when my 16-year-old son Javi blurted it out from where he leaned against the counter scrolling TikTok. “Mom, do people actually find life worth living? Like, most people?” I almost dropped the plate I was holding into the soapy water. As a part-time high school teacher, I hear this question at least once a month from my students, but that doesn’t make it less jarring when it comes from your own kid, right after he’s teased you for burning the garlic bread.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and sat down on the floor next to our golden retriever, who was gnawing on a rawhide that smelled like peanut butter. If I’d reacted the way most of us do first, I would’ve babbled something like “Of course it is! How could you even ask that?” That’s what I used to do when I first started teaching, until I noticed that every time I said that, kids would shut down, shrug, and go back to scrolling. So instead I said, “What made you ask that?”
Javi pushed off the counter and sat down next to me, dropping his phone between us. He’d spent the last two weeks stressing over driver’s test retakes and AP Bio quizzes and a fight with his best friend over who got to invite who to a birthday party. He said he’d been scrolling a Reddit thread full of people in their 30s talking about how they just work 40 hours a week to pay rent, wait for the weekend, and then do it all again. No one was talking about being happy. His cousin, who just graduated college and moved to the city, complains about her student loans and her long commute every time we see her. “What’s the point of all this stuff I’m doing now—all the homework, all the college apps—if it just turns into that?” he said.
That’s the part no one talks about, right? We spend all of middle and high school selling kids this narrative: work hard, get good grades, get into a good college, get a good job, and then you’ll be happy. We show them highlight reels on Instagram and graduation speeches full of big dreams. So when they start peeking behind the curtain and see that most of adult life is made up of boring, frustrating, unglamorous bits, they don’t just feel confused—they start questioning if the whole thing is worth it. Last semester, a 10th grader of mine turned in a journal entry that said, “All adults lie about being happy. They only post the good stuff, so when I see them actually tired and stressed, I think life must be a scam.”
It’s easy to panic when a kid says this. Most of the parents I talk to after hearing this question immediately assume their kid is suicidal, that they’ve done something wrong as a parent. Sometimes it is a sign of a deeper mental health crisis, and if your kid talks about hurting themselves or says they don’t want to be here anymore, you should reach out to a professional right away. But nine times out of ten, this question isn’t a cry for emergency help—it’s just a kid growing up, learning to think for themselves and call bullshit on the lies we’ve been selling them.
What works, from what I’ve tried both at home and in my classroom, is not fixing it, just being honest. I didn’t tell Javi that life is one big amazing adventure. I told him that last week, when I had 32 papers to grade, our car battery died in the grocery store parking lot, and I forgot to buy milk for his cereal the next morning, I spent 20 minutes on the couch thinking this whole routine was stupid. “I don’t feel like life is worth living every single day,” I told him. “But most days, there’s at least one small thing that makes it okay. It’s not the big stuff, usually. It’s the 10 minutes after you and your dad go to bed where I get to drink cold sweet tea and watch that terrible baking show I like. It’s when your dog brings me his toy when I’m sad. It’s when one of my students brings me a dandelion they picked on the way to class, just because.”
Javi didn’t gasp and suddenly decide life is amazing. He just nodded, kicked the rawhide across the kitchen floor, and said “Yeah, I guess. I still think homework is garbage though.” That’s fine. I didn’t need a big win that night.
In class, when kids bring this up, I do a tiny, low-effort exercise that doesn’t feel like therapy or a formal lesson. I ask everyone to write down one thing from the past week that wasn’t bad, no big achievements allowed. No “I got an A on my test” or “I went to a concert.” Just “my cat curled up on my homework while I was working” or “the taco truck gave me free extra guac.” Parents can do this casually at dinner some night, no fanfare required. It just helps kids start to see that the good stuff is usually the stuff no one posts about.
If you don’t know what to say when your kid asks this question, the best phrase you can use is “That’s such a good question. I think about that sometimes too.” You don’t have to have the answer. You just have to not shut the question down. Fake unwavering positivity just convinces kids that their own doubts are wrong, and that they can’t come to you with the hard stuff next time.
Last week, Javi made himself scrambled eggs for breakfast before school, and he left half of his extra one on my plate, no note, no announcement. I didn’t bring up the question again. He hasn’t either. Some nights I still glance over and see him frowning at his phone, reading those threads full of jaded 30-somethings. I don’t expect him to figure out the meaning of life when he’s 16. I just hope he knows it’s okay to ask. And that even if the answer isn’t big and shiny, it’s still there, most days, in the small bits.
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