What To Do When Your Teen Asks “Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?”
I was scraping congealed mac and cheese off Lila’s dinner bowl Tuesday night, the dishwasher already humming half-full, when she leaned against the counter and asked it plain: “Do people actually think life is worth living? Like, really?” Her phone was face down next to a half-empty can of iced tea, her hoodie pulled up over the messy bun she’d thrown together that morning. I’d just picked her up from her part-time coffee shop shift, and she’d been quiet the whole ride home, so I wasn’t expecting this to come out of nowhere. My first instinct was the automatic parent line: Of course it is! What about your dog, your trip to the lake this summer, your new art supplies? I almost said it before I bit it back. I’ve been teaching high school English for 12 years, and I’ve heard this question enough to know it’s not a request for a pep talk.
I wiped my wet hands on the front of my jeans, sat down on the cool linoleum next to the garbage can, and asked her what got her thinking about it. She rolled her eyes a little, not the mean kind, the tired teen kind, and said a thread on her class Instagram had been blowing up all day. Half the people posting said they didn’t buy the “it gets better” talk adults keep shoving at them. One girl’s parents just split and she’s not sure if they’ll be able to keep their house. Another got a 4.0 and still can’t afford the in-state tuition for the engineering program he wants. They’d all been talking about how climate change is going to make everything worse before they’re even my age, so what’s the point of bothering with most of it?
I get it. When I was their age, we worried about the same stuff, just different versions. But now, teens don’t have to wait for the evening news to see every bad thing that’s happening anywhere. It’s on their feed 24/7, and the happy, curated lives everyone else posts just make it feel like they’re the only ones who aren’t having a good time. This question isn’t always a sign your kid is in immediate danger, though of course if they talk about hurting themselves, you take that straight to a professional. Most of the time, it’s just them calling bullshit on the lie we sell them that life is supposed to be one big, rewarding adventure if you just work hard enough. They’re not wrong.
Last semester, after we finished reading The Great Gatsby, I asked kids to write one question they still had on an exit ticket. A quiet 10th grader named Javi wrote, “Do any adults actually think life is worth living, or do they just pretend?” I didn’t send him straight to the office like the handbook says I’m supposed to for “concerning content.” I already knew he worked 20 hours a week bagging groceries to help his mom pay rent, so I knew the question wasn’t coming out of nowhere. Instead, I adjusted my lesson plan the next day. I told everyone we were going to do five minutes of free writing, no names required, no sharing if you didn’t want to. The prompt was: “What’s one tiny thing this week that made your day a little less bad, even if it was stupid and doesn’t fix anything?” I wrote my own, too: my neighbor brought me an extra tomato from her garden that I put on a sandwich. When I collected the papers, no one wrote something big like “getting into college” or “winning the game.” Most wrote things like “my dog waits for me by the door even when I’m late getting home” or “the vending machine gave me two chips for the price of one” or “my little sister sings off key in the car and it’s annoying but it’s better than quiet.” After that, a lot more kids started bringing these questions up quietly after class, instead of keeping them to themselves.
The thing I tell other parents and new teachers is this: don’t rush to answer the question. The first thing to say isn’t a speech, it’s “That’s such a good question. What made you think about that today?” Let them talk first, don’t interrupt to fix it. Second, don’t lie and say you never feel that way. That night with Lila, I told her I had a whole weekend last month where my back hurt, the car needed new brakes I couldn’t afford, and I burned the cookies I was making for the school bake sale. I laid on the couch Saturday afternoon and thought “Is this just it? Just working and paying bills and hurting all the time?” I didn’t tell her that to make her worry, I told her because it’s true. Third, when you talk about the good parts, stick to the tiny stuff, not the big milestones. No one feels motivated by “you’ll have a nice house one day” when they can’t see how that’s even possible. It’s way more real to talk about the way cold lemonade tastes on a hot day, or the way your favorite song comes on the radio right when you need it.
After we talked that night, Lila got up and grabbed a fudge popsicle from the freezer, split it with me, and we watched 10 minutes of that dumb rescue cat show she binges. She didn’t suddenly grin and say “Wow, you’re right, life is amazing!” She still texts me “why do we even do this” from school when she has three tests in one day. I just text back “I also hate three tests in one day, want a glazed donut after school?” We haven’t answered the big question once and for all. Some days it feels worth it, some days it doesn’t. That’s okay. I’d rather she be honest about it than pretend everything is fine when it’s not.
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