10 Things Your Teen Won't Say Out Loud (But Desperately Needs You to Know)
“Your teen is trying to tell you something. But not with words.”
I've chatted with hundreds of struggling adolescents and teens over the years. Connected through mentorship, coaching, running a NFP that taught hundreds of teens about their emotions.
And I kept hearing the same thing: "My parents don't get it."
Don’t worry, they know you care. They do. Deeply.
But because somewhere between childhood and adolescence, the language changed. And most parents are still speaking the old one.
Your teen is trying to protect themselves, and sometimes, protect you too.
They're sending signals. Small, subtle ones. Hoping you'll notice before things get worse.
The problem? Most parents are either missing the signals entirely, or they're seeing them and dismissing them as "just teenage behaviour."
So I asked teens directly: “What do you wish your parents understood?”
What they actually want you to know.
Here's what they told me.
Some of it might sting. Some of it might surprise you. All of it is worth hearing.
Because there’s a huge gap between what your teen is saying and what they're actually feeling. That's where kids get lost.
And closing that gap starts with understanding what they're not saying out loud.
The 10 Things
1. When I say "I'm fine," I'm testing to see if you'll look closer.
You ask how I'm doing. I say "fine."
Most parents stop there. They take it at face value because it's easier. They're tired. And they want to believe everything's okay.
But here's what I'm actually doing: I'm testing whether you care enough to notice I'm lying.
I'm not fine. I'm struggling. But I need to know you'll push past my walls before I trust you with what's really happening.
What this means for you: "Fine" is not the end of the conversation. It's the beginning. Ask again. Ask differently. "You said you're fine, but you don't seem fine. What's actually going on?"
Don't interrogate. Just stay curious. And don't walk away after one-word answers.
2. I'm not shutting you out. I'm protecting you from how bad it actually is.
When I go quiet, it's not because I don't love you.
It's because I'm drowning and I don't want you to drown with me.
I see how stressed you already are. How tired. How worried about money, work, everything else. I don't want to add to that.
So I keep it in. I handle it alone. And by the time you notice, it's already worse than it needed to be.
What this means for you: Tell me explicitly that I'm not a burden. That my problems don't make your life harder, hiding them does.
Say it out loud: "I'd rather know what you're dealing with than find out later it got worse because you were trying to protect me."
3. Your advice is making me feel more alone, not less.
I come to you with a problem.
You immediately try to fix it. You tell me what I should do. You share a story from when you were my age. You minimize it by saying "everyone goes through this."
And I shut down.
Because I didn't come to you for solutions. I came to you to feel less alone. And now I feel like you don't actually understand what I'm going through.
What this means for you: Resist the urge to fix. Just listen. Reflect back what you're hearing: "That sounds really hard" or "No wonder you're feeling overwhelmed."
Ask permission before giving advice: "Do you want me to help you figure this out, or do you just need me to listen?"
Most of the time? I just need you to listen.
4. I'm not being dramatic. This is actually how big it feels.
You tell me I'm overreacting. That it's not that serious. That I'll understand when I'm older.
But to me? This is serious. This friendship ending, this test I failed, this rejection, it feels like the end of the world because right now, it is my world.
Dismissing my feelings doesn't teach me perspective. It teaches me you don't take me seriously.
What this means for you: Stop measuring my pain against yours. Just because you've lived longer doesn't mean what I'm feeling isn't real.
Validate first. Always. "I can see this really matters to you" or "That sounds really painful."
You can help me build perspective later. But only after I feel heard.
5. I need you to notice the small changes, not wait for the big crisis.
I'm not going to come to you and say "Mom, Dad, I'm struggling with my mental health."
Instead, I'll stop doing the things I used to love. I'll sleep more. I'll snap at you over small things. I'll seem "off."
And if you don't notice, or if you notice but write it off as "just being a teenager", I'll assume you don't care enough to look closer.
What this means for you: Pay attention to patterns, not just moments.
If I've stopped seeing friends for three weeks straight, that's not normal teenage moodiness. If I'm sleeping 12 hours a day, that's not just being tired.
Use the Teen Signal Check if you're not sure. Trust what you're noticing. And ask.
6. When you compare me to other kids, I hear "you're not good enough."
"Why can't you be more like your sister?"
"Your friend's grades are so much better."
"I wish you cared about school like they do."
You think you're motivating me. You think comparison will push me to try harder.
But all I hear is: I'm a disappointment.
And instead of trying harder, I give up. Because why bother if I'm never going to measure up anyway?
What this means for you: Stop comparing. Period.
If you're worried about my effort or my choices, talk to me about me. Not about what someone else is doing.
"I've noticed you seem less interested in school lately. What's going on?" That's a conversation. Comparison is just damage.
7. I don't need you to have all the answers. I need you to admit when you don't.
You think you have to know what to say. What to do. How to fix it.
But when you pretend to have answers you don't actually have, I lose trust.
I'd rather hear "I don't know, but we'll figure it out together" than watch you fumble through advice that doesn't fit.
What this means for you: It's okay to say "I don't know." It's okay to say "I'm learning too."
Admitting you're figuring this out makes me feel less alone. Pretending you've got it all handled makes me feel like I'm the only one struggling.
8. Your phone is telling me I'm not as important as whatever's on that screen.
I start talking to you.
You glance at your phone. You half-listen. You say "uh-huh" without looking up.
And I stop talking.
Because if you can't even put your phone down for five minutes, why would I trust you with the hard stuff?
What this means for you: Put. The phone. Down.
When I'm talking, really talking, give me your full attention. Look at me. Ask follow-up questions. Show me I'm worth more than whatever notification just came through.
You expect me to open up. But I need to know you'll actually be there when I do.
9. I'm not lazy. I'm overwhelmed. There's a difference.
You see me lying in bed, scrolling my phone, avoiding homework.
You call me lazy. You tell me I need to try harder. You threaten to take things away.
But I'm not lazy. I'm paralyzed.
The list of things I need to do is so long, I don't know where to start. So I do nothing. And then I feel worse. And the cycle continues.
What this means for you: Stop calling it laziness. Start asking what's underneath it.
"You seem stuck. What's making this feel so hard right now?"
Help me break it into smaller steps. Sit with me while I start. Don't just tell me to "get it done" and walk away.
10. I need you to keep showing up, even when I push you away.
I'm going to test you.
I'm going to say hurtful things. I'm going to tell you I don't need you. I'm going to act like I don't care whether you're there or not.
And here's what I need you to know: I'm lying.
I do need you. Desperately. But I'm scared. Scared you'll leave. Scared you'll give up on me. So I push you away first.
What this means for you: Don't take the bait.
When I push, lean in. Not aggressively. Just consistently.
"I know you're upset with me right now, but I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."
Stay. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.
The Truth About This List
If you read through these and felt a knot in your stomach. Get in line.
Most parents do.
Because parenting a teenager is one of the hardest things you'll ever do, and nobody hands you a manual for the hard parts.
You're supposed to know how to navigate their silence. Their mood swings. Their withdrawal.
You're supposed to know when "fine" means fine and when it means "I'm falling apart but I don't know how to tell you."
This is what I've learned from working with dozens of families:
The parents who get this right aren't the ones who never mess up. They're the ones who keep showing up, keep asking, keep trying. Even when it's awkward. Even when their teen pushes back.
That's the work. And it starts with understanding what your teen is actually trying to tell you.
What Now?
If you read this list and thought I wish I knew how to actually do this. This may be simple, but it’s certainly not easy.
Most parents want to support their teens. They just don't know how to start the conversation without it turning into a fight.
That's why I created "5 Questions That Get Teens Talking", a free guide with the exact questions that open doors instead of slamming them shut.
Or if you're ready to go deeper, if you want to learn how to have these conversations in real time, with real tools, join us for a Lifeline Workshop, or join our Parent Support Community, “When Something Feels Off”
We'll teach you the same skills we teach mentors at The MentorWell. How to listen without fixing. How to notice the small changes. How to stay consistent even when your teen pushes you away.
[Sign up for the next Lifeline Workshop here]
Because your teen needs you. Even when they're acting like they don't.
