When Your Teen Asks ‘Do People Really Find Life Worth Living?’ What Caregivers Can Do
The popcorn bag was still steaming in my hand when my 16-year-old Jase slouched onto the kitchen counter stool, phone face-down next to his muddy cross country socks, and asked the question. “Do people actually think life is worth living?”
I almost spilled the salt all over the counter. The chipped bowl I was reaching for was one I made in my own high school ceramics class, lopsided and stained with years of spaghetti sauce, and for a second I was 16 again, sitting at my own kitchen table asking my mom the same thing, and remembering how she’d laughed and said “Of course it is, don’t be silly” and I’d never asked again.
I wiped my palm on my worn jeans and leaned against the counter instead of jumping in with the same line. “What made you wonder that today?”
He’d been scrolling TikTok after practice, he said. A dozen different creators were talking about how everyone fakes it—adults go to work they hate, pay bills they can barely afford, complain nonstop, and no one actually enjoys any of it. School’s just studying to get into college to get a better job to pay more bills, he said. What’s the actual point of all the rushing?
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this question. Before I cut back to part-time work to be home more for my kids, I taught 11th grade English. I heard some version of this question at least once a month from quiet kids, loud kids, kids with straight A’s and kids who skipped class every Friday. It’s easy to panic when a kid says this—your first thought is suicide, crisis, get help right now. And that’s always the first concrete step anyone should take when a kid (or anyone, really) asks this is to ask straight out: “Are you thinking about hurting yourself?” It doesn’t put the idea in their head if it wasn’t there, and it lets you get them the right help immediately if it is.
Nine times out of ten, though, it’s not a crisis. It’s a kid working through the first big realization of adulthood: that all the big promises we tell them—get good grades, go to college, get a good job, be happy—don’t automatically make life feel worth it. They’re seeing the gap between the perfect life we show on social media and the actual messy, boring complaining most of us do off camera, and they’re right to call it out.
The worst thing we can do here is brush it off or give that generic “you have so much to live for” pep talk. I’ve seen it a hundred times: the kid shuts down, because they know their feelings are real, and your speech just feels like you’re not listening. Instead, I tried honesty that day. I told Jase that some days I absolutely don’t think life’s worth it. I told him about last Tuesday, when I spent three hours on hold with the health insurance company arguing over a $28 copay, burned the meatloaf for dinner, and found the dog had peed on the new rug by the front door. After everyone went to bed that night, I sat on the back porch drinking cold coffee and thought, This is just stupid. Why do we bother with all of this?
He blinked, like he wasn’t expecting me to say that. I didn’t stop there. I told him that the big question “is life worth living” doesn’t have one big, neat answer. It’s got a thousand tiny answers, that add up slow. I didn’t give him a speech about all his big future plans. I told him that I don’t cling to life for big promotions or fancy vacations. I cling to it for the way he burns popcorn a little extra because that’s how he likes it, and the way the peonies by the fence smell at 7 a.m. when I’m letting the dog out, and the way my old college friend texts me a bad joke every Sunday morning even though we haven’t seen each other in three years.
Then I asked him to name three tiny things that felt even a little worth it that week, no big achievements allowed. He frowned at first, then thought: the way the golden hour light hits the oak tree by the practice field after running, when his cat curls up on his math homework so he has an excuse to stop working, that new indie song he found that makes him want to drive around with the windows all the way down even when it’s 50 degrees out.
It’s such a small thing, but it works. As a teacher, I used to do this casual check-in once a month when kids seemed checked out after a big test: go around and name one tiny good thing that happened that week, no big stuff allowed. It doesn’t fix anxiety or bad home situations or any of the big hard things, but it reminds everyone that the answer to that big question isn’t something you have to figure out once and for all. It’s something you collect, a little at a time.
You don’t have to force it, either. If a kid doesn’t want to play, you drop it. The point isn’t to cheer them up on the spot, it’s to show them that it’s okay to ask the question, and that you don’t have all the answers either. A lot of parents I talk to say they don’t want to admit they have bad days because it will scare their kid. But kids can spot a fake a mile away. If you only tell them life is amazing 24/7, they think their own confusion and boredom are wrong, and they stop talking to you about it.
The other day we were driving home from his physical, gas ticking up to $3.90 a gallon, and he was staring out the window. “Most days still feel pretty pointless, honestly,” he said. I didn’t jump in to fix it. I just said, “That’s okay. Most days are pretty pointless on their own. The point adds up slow.” He turned up his song and didn’t say anything else, and that was fine.
We haven’t solved the question. Some weeks we remember to list our tiny things, some weeks we don’t. I don’t have a perfect answer to give him, because I’m still figuring it out too. But he still asks me when he’s wondering, and that’s enough for right now.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » When Your Teen Asks ‘Do People Really Find Life Worth Living