What’s Going On With Our Young People?

I spent the day in a school, working with a group of eight children who’d been labelled as “disengaged. "And they were.

But it wasn’t just a lack of interest, it was something heavier. A kind of deliberate refusal to enjoy anything. They didn’t want to join in. Didn’t want to laugh. Wouldn’t even let themselves have a go at something new. It was like they were holding a grudge against the idea of enjoyment itself.

And I’ve been thinking about that ever since.

What’s going on here? Why are so many young people stuck in that space where nothing feels worth trying?

This isn’t a “kids these days” rant. It’s not about blaming anyone. But I do think we need to look at it closely. Really closely. Because I’m seeing it more and more. And I know I’m not the only one.

I don’t think this is laziness. I don’t think it’s poor behaviour. I think it’s something deeper.

I think a lot of young people have built up a defence system that says, “If I don’t try, I can’t fail. "Because failure stings. And if you’ve felt it enough times—at school, at home, in your friendships—you learn to protect yourself from it. So you disengage. You roll your eyes. You act like you don’t care, even when part of you really does.

It’s heart breaking when you recognise that.

I also think many young people can’t see the point of what they’re being asked to do. And if life already feels uncertain, chaotic, or out of reach—then trying hard at something abstract must seem ridiculous.

Some of the kids we work with are carrying more than they should be. Grief. Poverty. Instability. Anxiety they can’t put into words. And yet we’re asking them to sit down, stay focused, behave, smile, try their best…It’s no wonder some of them shut down.

Others are simply exhausted by the world we’ve built for them. Constant stimulation. Instant entertainment. Filters. Notifications. When your brain gets used to that pace, real life can feel slow and dull by comparison. So they opt out. Not because they’re broken—but because they’re overwhelmed.

And then there’s the identity side of things. We’ve got a generation growing up unsure of who they are, constantly comparing themselves to others, and often too scared to just be themselves in a world that judges them instantly.

In that context, apathy feels safer than vulnerability.

I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: the solution isn’t in punishments or reward charts. It’s in us.

We need to show up, again and again, with patience and presence. We need to create spaces where trying feels safe. Where failure isn’t shaming. We need to make room for joy, even if it arrives quietly. And maybe most of all, we need to believe in them—loudly, consistently, even when they push us away.

If you’re a teacher, youth worker, coach, parent… you’ll have seen this. You’ll have felt it. That quiet ache when you can’t quite reach them. That flicker of hope when one of them finally does drop their guard, even for a moment.

That’s the work. That’s the real stuff.

And maybe it starts with us asking the harder questions—not about what’s wrong with them, but what’s happening to them… and what we can do to help.