I don’t know how to help my 16-year-old niece, and I’m a little scared
I was folding mismatched socks last night when my phone buzzed, and it was a text from Lila—my niece—just a blurry photo of her desk at school. There’s a crumpled granola bar wrapper, a half-empty Monster that’s been there since before lunch, and the dumb cat sticker I got her for Christmas last year, the one that says “I <3 napping” stuck right in the corner. No caption, nothing else. I texted back “cute desk :)” and three hours later she just sent a thumbs up. That’s how most of our conversations go now, all stunted and awkward, like we’re both tip-toeing around a big puddle we don’t want to step in.
I used to be the cool aunt, remember? When she was 12 and my sister was going through that terrible divorce, Lila would stay at my place every other weekend. We’d order way too much takeout, binge the entire first season of Stranger Things, let my old beagle sleep on her bed even though she’s allergic. She’d draw for hours at my kitchen table, bring me sketches of the beagle, of her favorite K-pop idols, of the treehouse she wanted to build in my backyard. I still have that lopsided drawing of my dog taped to my fridge—he has three legs and a smile that takes up half his face—and I haven’t taken it down even though the dog’s been gone two years now.
It all changed so fast. One day she’s asking me to help her pick out a first bra, the next she’s 16, 5’8”, won’t let me hug her hello in public, skips school three days out of five. The school called my sister back in fall, said there were rumors she was cutting herself, that she’d been fighting with some girls online. My sister works two jobs, 6am to 8pm at the local hospital as a CNA, then cleans office buildings three nights a week just to pay the rent and keep Lila in her phone plan. She’s so tired half the time she can barely keep her eyes open at dinner. When I bring up Lila, she just cries and says “she’s just being a teenager, I was moody too, what do you want me to do?” I don’t blame her. I know she’s hanging on by a thread herself. But this doesn’t feel just moody, y’know?
I tried the whole “let’s talk” thing a couple weeks ago. I picked her up after school, took her to that new iced coffee place she posted about on Instagram, got her the lavender oat milk latte she likes. I just asked her, straight up, if something was wrong. If she was sad, if someone hurt her, anything. She just stirred her latte so fast the ice sloshed over the edge onto the table, and she stared at the spill until it pooled on my side of the booth. I handed her a napkin, she didn’t take it. Just said “I’m fine” and didn’t say another word the whole drive home. She got out of the car before I even parked fully, didn’t say goodbye. I sat there for ten minutes after she left, just staring at the spilled coffee on my shirt, feeling like an idiot.
What do you do when the person you want to help won’t let you help them? I’ve looked up teen therapists nearby, most are $120 to $180 a session. I make enough to pay for one or two, but I can’t swing that every week on top of my own rent and my student loans. There’s a sliding scale place downtown, but the waitlist is six months long. I don’t know what to do while we wait. I leave her lemon cookies from Trader Joe’s when she stays over, because I know they’re her favorite, but she never says anything. I’ll text her a meme I think she’ll like, sometimes she replies, sometimes she doesn’t. Last month she asked me for $20 to get boba with her friends, I sent her $40 and she said “thanks” that’s it. I don’t know if that’s enough.
Sometimes I think I’m overreacting. I’ll scroll her TikTok and see her laughing with her friends at the skate park, doing dumb tricks on their boards, and I think okay, maybe this is just what teens are like now. They don’t talk to their aunts, they don’t tell their parents anything. I was 16 once, I skipped school to go to the beach with my boyfriend, I snuck out, my mom thought I was going to end up homeless. I turned out fine, right? But then she’ll post a story that just says “I wish I wasn’t here” and delete it ten minutes later, and my stomach drops out. Last week she got caught stealing a pack of Sour Patch Kids from the corner store down the street from her house. The owner didn’t call the cops, just called my sister, and Lila just said she didn’t know why she did it. That’s not normal teen stuff, is it? Or am I just making it bigger than it is?
I don’t want generic advice. I don’t want “just love her” because I do love her. I love her more than almost anyone I know. I just don’t know how to reach her. I’m writing this because I figure someone out there has been here. Either you were that sad, closed off 16 year old, or you were the scared aunt trying to fix something you don’t understand. What’s the small thing that worked that no one talks about in those big parenting articles? The thing that doesn’t cost a thousand dollars, that doesn’t require sending her away to some fancy wilderness camp for troubled teens. I haven’t called that sliding scale therapist yet. I’m scared if I push too hard, she’ll shut me out completely. But I’m more scared of doing nothing, and waking up one day and it’s too late. I’m just here, waiting for any little thing I haven’t tried yet.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » I don’t know how to help my 16-year-old niece, and I’m a little scared