What To Do When Your Teen Asks: Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?
The water was lukewarm on my hands, I was rinsing spaghetti sauce off last night’s baking dish when my 16-year-old Javi asked. He was perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, one sneaker swinging, a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie in his lap, the hood of his stained gray sweatshirt pulled up over messy hair. “Hey,” he said, like he was asking if we had any more milk, “do you ever wonder if people actually think life is worth living? Like, really?”
A drop of water splashed on my favorite worn jeans. I almost dropped the dish. My first instinct was the same I think most of us have: laugh it off, say of course it is, it gets better, you’ll see when you’re older. But I stopped. Two weeks before, he’d failed his driver’s test for the second time. The week before that, he’d broken up with his first girlfriend, and our 12-year-old golden retriever had been diagnosed with early arthritis that meant she couldn’t go on the long hikes they used to take together. So I leaned against the counter next to him, wiped my hands on my towel, and said, “Yeah. I do. Some days.”
He blinked, like he wasn’t expecting that. All his life, he’s heard adults give the same speech: life is a gift, every day is a blessing, just stay positive. He told me later that at the mental health talk his school hosted the day before, that’s exactly what the speaker said when someone asked the same question. No one admitted that sometimes, it just feels like a lot of work for not a whole lot of payoff.
That’s the thing no one tells you when you’re a parent of a teen: these big, scary-sounding questions aren’t always emergencies. Of course, if your kid is talking about hurting themselves or says they don’t see a point to being here long-term, you get them help right away. But more often than not, when teens ask this question, they’re not in crisis. They’re doing what teens are supposed to do: questioning all the simplified stories adults have told them, and trying to figure out what they actually believe.
I didn’t used to know that. A couple years ago, when my niece was 15 and asked the same question at a family dinner, I panicked and pulled my sister aside, convinced we needed to call a therapist that night. Turns out she was just mad that her best friend bailed on their concert trip and she’d failed a chemistry test, and she wanted to know why everyone was acting like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.
What works, I’ve learned, is meeting them where they are with small, honest truths, not big speeches. Instead of saying I’ve always known life is worth it, I told Javi about last Tuesday. I’d spent three hours on hold with the car insurance company after someone sideswiped me in the grocery store parking lot, I burned the meatloaf for dinner, and I forgot to pick up his favorite laundry detergent so he had to use mine that makes his hoodies smell like lavender. After everything, I sat in the car in the driveway for 12 minutes before I went in, because I just didn’t want to deal with one more thing that day. “I thought that day was garbage,” I told him. “I thought what’s the point of all this stupid annoying stuff if this is what most days are.”
That’s when he opened up. He said all his friends post all the fun stuff on TikTok and Instagram, but when they hang out off camera, almost all of them say they’re just faking being happy. No one says they think life is amazing, they just say they’re getting through it.
I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app, and showed him the stupid list I keep that I never show anyone. It’s not a gratitude journal, it’s just a list of tiny things that don’t matter, that I add to when I think of them. Last week’s entries: barista gave me an extra espresso shot for free, neighbor’s cat sat on my porch step for 10 minutes while I drank coffee, Javi laughed at my bad joke about pineapples even though it wasn’t funny, the dog still chases squirrels even if she can’t go very far. I told him I don’t do this because I’m trying to force positivity. I do it because when you’re asking the big question, you forget that 90% of life isn’t the big vacations or the graduation parties or the promotions. It’s just a bunch of tiny, stupid, easy to miss things. Some of them suck, some of them are fine, and a few are nice.
He took my phone and scrolled to the bottom, and typed “fries were extra crispy at lunch today” and handed it back.
That’s the concrete thing you can do, if this ever comes up with your kid or your student: keep that stupid tiny list, and show it to them. You don’t have to make it big. You don’t have to fix their question. Another thing that works: don’t rush to answer. If they ask, you can just say “that’s a really good question, I wonder about that too” instead of jumping into a pre-written speech. That gives them permission to keep thinking about it, instead of shutting down because they feel like they’re being dramatic or a bother. If you’re worried about them, skip the panicked “are you okay?” and ask something specific: “Have you been feeling this way most days for a few weeks? Have you stopped wanting to do the things you usually like doing?” That gives you a clear answer, and doesn’t put them on the defensive for asking a question.
Last week, we were driving to school, and he was quiet for five minutes, then he said, “I still don’t know if it’s all worth it, honestly.” I turned down the radio, and said, “That’s okay. I don’t know either, some days. We just keep going, and look for the crispy fries, right?” He nodded, and pulled out his phone to text his friend, and I didn’t ask any more questions.
Some days are better than others. He hasn’t stopped asking the question, and I don’t expect him to. I think that’s the point, actually. Growing up isn’t about finding one big answer that fits forever. It’s about learning to live with the question, and notice the small stuff along the way. We’re still figuring it out, together. That’s enough, for now.
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