What To Do When Your Teen Asks: Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?
It’s 7:30 on a Tuesday, I’m folding grass-stained soccer jerseys on our living room couch, and my 16-year-old Lila is half-sprawled on the other end, picking at a half-eaten bowl of mac and cheese. Her phone’s face down, which is unusual, and she’s been quiet since she got home from school—still stinging from her second failed driver’s test and a fight with her best friend the weekend before. I’m just about to ask if she wants a refill on her soda when she looks up, voice flat, no drama, just genuine curiosity: “Mom, do people really find life worth living?”
I almost dropped a jersey. My first instinct was to lunge into the big pep talk—of course it is! What about graduation, and future trips, and all the good things ahead? But I caught myself. Ten years ago, when I was a new part-time high school counselor, I would have said exactly that. I would have jumped in to fix the bad feeling before it even had space to exist. Instead, I folded the jersey I was holding, set it on top of the pile, and scooted over to make more space between us. “That’s such a good question,” I said. “What made you think of that tonight?”
She said she’d been scrolling during study hall, saw a thread of people in their 30s and 40s talking about how most of life is just working to pay rent, taking care of other people, and waiting for the rare good day that’s over before you even enjoy it. She pointed out her aunt, who just got divorced after 12 years of marriage, her soccer coach who quit last month because she was too burnt out to keep coaching, even our neighbor who retired last year and still complains every time he sees us that he’s bored. “Everyone just seems like they’re faking it,” she said. “Why bother if that’s all it is?”
I thought back to when I was 17, and I asked my own mom the exact same question after a bad breakup and a rotten semester. She told me I was being ungrateful, that I had a roof over my head and people who loved me, and that I shouldn’t say things like that. I never asked her again. I didn’t want that for Lila.
I didn’t give her a scripted answer. I told her the truth. “I don’t think it’s this big amazing thing every day, honestly. Some weeks I drag myself out of bed, and all I do is work, and cook dinner, and fold laundry, and go back to bed, and that’s it. I don’t feel some big rush of ‘this is worth it’ on those days. But for me, it’s the tiny stuff that adds up. Like, right now? Even when you’re grumpy, I’m glad I’m here sitting next to you instead of doing something else. I love that our dog waits by the door for me every single day, even if I’ve only been gone for 20 minutes. Last week, after you failed your driver’s test, we got that salted caramel ice cream on the way home, and even though you were crying through the first half of your cone, it still tasted really good, didn’t it?”
She didn’t grin and suddenly change her mind. She just nodded, thought for a minute, and asked if we could get glazed donuts for breakfast tomorrow. That was it. We went back to what we were doing.
As a counselor, I get this question at least once a month, from kids 14 to 18. It’s not always a cry for help, though it can be, which is why the first thing I tell other parents and teachers is to pause before you respond. The first concrete step I recommend is always to ask what brought the question on, instead of jumping to answer. If they say it’s just a bad day, or something they saw online, you know it’s a genuine question about the world, not a crisis. If they say they’ve felt this way every day for weeks, and they don’t enjoy anything they used to love, that’s when you reach out to a doctor or therapist—no overthinking, just make the call.
The second thing I’ve learned is don’t lie. Kids can spot a fake pep talk from a mile away. If you insist life is 100% amazing all the time, they’ll shut down and stop talking. It’s okay to admit that some days suck, that some seasons of life are just hard. The third step is to point to small, specific good things that actually exist in their life, not generic far-off stuff like “you’ll love college” or “you’ll get a great job one day.” If they spend 20 minutes every night playing video games with their friends, name that. If they get excited when their favorite new song comes on the radio, name that. Those are the things that actually make life worth living for most of us, not the big milestones we post about online.
Last week, a 10th grader came into my office after school and asked me the same question. I told him about the two years I worked a dead-end retail job after college, when I could barely pay my rent, and the only thing that got me through was stopping for a 50-cent lemonade from the stand outside the bus stop every day after my shift. That was my tiny thing. He thought for a minute, and said he stops every morning to watch the squirrels fight over acorns on the lawn outside the gym. That’s his. We sat for five more minutes, and then he went to his after-school job. That was it.
Lila still has bad days. Last weekend, she stayed in her room until 2 in the afternoon, didn’t talk to anyone, and said life still feels pretty pointless some days. I don’t push her to cheer up. I just bring her a snack, leave her be, and ask if she wants to talk when she’s ready. I don’t have a perfect answer to her question. Some days, I still wonder it myself. But I know this much: when kids ask this, they don’t need a perfect, polished answer. They just need us to not run from the question, and to tell them the truth. It’s messy, it’s mostly small, and it’s not always worth it every single day. But most days, it’s worth it enough. That’s the best I’ve got, and so far, it’s working.
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