When I was a young girl, I wrote poetry. Instead of journaling, I recorded all of my teenage angst and emotions in prose – book after book, page after page, pouring out my heart. I reflected on relationships and events, narrating life as I observed it. I’ve kept some of those books, although I’m not entirely sure why, since (for the most part) I have no intention of ever releasing them for anyone to read.

One particular entry, written by 15 year old Kimmy, was a bumbling attempt to process my emotions after experiencing a broken heart. I can remember very clearly the boy, the relationship, the experience. I had fallen hard, and we were as deeply invested as teenagers can be – but the relationship had come to an end.

The final line of the poem says: “People tell me to get on with my life, but he was my life.”

Could it get any more dramatic? Kimmy was clearly feeling the full depths of love lost and trying to navigate the emotional minefield and social implications of breaking up. He was my life! I have no doubt that in that moment, it felt like a true statement.

However, on the next page – dated the very next day – there was a new poem, written about a different boy! It opened with the line: “He smiled at me today.” It would appear the broken heart had recovered – and if not completely mended, had at least been distracted enough for the attention of another boy to become poem-worthy. It’s a mildly embarrassing snapshot and memory, but very real in the moment. And I dare say, a realistic capture of me in my teenage years.

That moment was decades ago now, in a very different time. If 15 year old Kimmy were navigating life today, experiencing those same emotions, the same devastation, the same yo-yoing of feelings and the same immaturity – but in an era of internet, devices and social media – I am completely certain that it all would have been plastered across my various accounts and apps.

I would have been sharing without caution or consideration of the implications – using social media as a place to vent and process my feelings. In a culture of sharing, high visibility and low filters, I doubt my level of emotional intelligence would have risen above that of any other teenager. The whole story would have been public for everyone to see. Opening myself up to the scrutiny and commentary of peers whose prefrontal cortexes were no more developed than my own.

I’m sure many would have expressed sympathy – maybe even a few sad face emojis – but then, when I shared my miraculous recovery and redirection of affection the next day, those same peers would have judged and commented again. I would have opened myself up to all kinds of criticism, and to the stories others might tell about me – about my choices, my character, my responses. All of it public. Exposed. Vulnerable.

I am eternally grateful that the era I was raised in means I just have a single copy of my handwritten words, sealed in a diary, in a box, hidden in my garage – rather than a digital footprint with a public audience and content no longer in my control.

That small vignette – this snapshot of my teenage years – compared to what life might be like if I were a teenager today, moves me to the deepest empathy for what young people face now. That one story alone makes me ache for the challenges and complexities teenagers must navigate in our current culture.

I am 100% convinced that 15 year old Kimmy would not have handled social media well. That she wouldn’t have had the maturity to make good choices about what to share or with whom. She would have been highly susceptible to the comments, likes and views of others – an my teenage years were hard enough without that!

When you think about your teenage self, what do you imagine you would have been like if social media existed back then? Not how you’d use it today – but how the teenage you would have used it.

That’s the point of empathy. That’s how we are able to empathetically engage with what young people are facing today.

Emerging generations need our empathy. They need our empathetic responses.

Emerging generations need our empathy.

Empathy is the posture of seeking first to understand – desiring to fully know the experience of another in order to appreciate their perspective and support, encourage, and connect with them. Empathy moves us to question and inquire. It calls us to find a place of commonality in our shared human experience, even if that life is lived differently – in another environment, culture, era, or set of social norms.

The opposite of empathy is judgement.

Judgement comes more effortlessly. It’s easy to criticize what we don’t understand – to observe behaviour, response, decisions, and actions, and to draw conclusions rather than be drawn to curiosity.

The opposite of empathy is judgement.

Any time we find ourselves saying things like “those young people” or “they always” or, the classic “in my day…”, we’re perpetuating a generational gap that will ultimately cause us to lose our voice and influence.

A desire to understand will lead to far more fruitful engagement with young people. When we give them space to share their perspectives, priorities, and worldview, we nurture the kind of connection that opens doors. Allowing us to be trusted advisors and helpers.

Empathy is a muscle that must be exercised.

It’s a discipline we must choose, again and again, if we’re to stay within hearing distance of others. A posture of empathy means that moments of misunderstanding, confusion, or even exasperation become doorways – opportunities for greater connection – if we engage curiosity instead of criticism.

Empathy is a muscle that must be exercised.

“I just don’t understand young people” becomes “Help me understand.”

Tell me more!
What do I need to know about how the world feels for you?
What would help you feel that I understand enough to be trusted – to be helpful – to be a voice of wisdom gained from my lived experience?
How might you come to believe that I am coming from a place of care and understanding? That my desire is for you to flourish and live the best version of life possible.

The challenge is clear for all of us. The next time we hear ourselves or others making sweeping statements or generalisations about young people, might we pause – suspend judgement – and seek first to understand.

I remember enough about being 15 to recall how certain I was that adults didn’t understand me or the age I was living in. I rejected advice, dismissed opinions, and scoffed at how out of touch old people were with life as I knew it. Young people today are no different. They are no more mature, no more cognitively or emotionally developed. The teenage brain is not just a smaller version of an adult one. Its chemistry and biology are entirely different.

Perhaps it starts with replacing statements with questions. I’m sure it starts with suspending judgement and conclusions. And we will most likely face resistance and hesitation. But each attempt – each expression of curiosity and a desire to understand – builds relational trust and maintains proximity. That proximity allows us to be of greatest value to young people: in life, in faith, in decision-making, in protecting their hearts. And ultimately, in setting them up to win.