Adolescence

And just when you thought you had mastered the art of fixing a broken cookie without triggering the apocalypse… adolescence arrives. That mystical, chaotic, and deeply transformative stage in which your child—who once believed you were an all-knowing being with answers to everything—now suspects you don’t even know what you’re doing with your life. And the worst part? They might be right.

Adolescence isn’t just another stage; it’s almost a full system reboot. It starts around age 11 or 12 and extends to 18 or even beyond (because, as we know, maturity doesn’t come with a legal ID). Unlike earlier stages, this one isn’t just about learning how to walk, share, or not cry over a broken cookie. Now it’s about deeper stuff: Who am I? What do I want to do with my life? Why do my parents breathe so loudly? You know—daily existential questions.

As we saw in the previous episode, from Piaget’s perspective, this is the stage of formal operations—the fourth and final stage of his cognitive development theory. Here, adolescents don’t just think in concrete terms anymore; they develop the ability to think abstractly, logically, and systematically. That means they can form hypotheses, imagine possible futures, question norms… and argue with you for thirty minutes about why they should be allowed to watch videos until 3 a.m. with lines like, “But I manage my sleep well, Mom.”

This abstract thinking is a gift to science, art, and philosophy… but it also gives rise to conversations like: “Nothing matters, everything is an illusion, why study if we’re all going to die anyway?” Bravo—Nietzsche would be proud. But you just wanted them to finish their math homework.

Meanwhile, our dear Vygotsky continues to insist that learning doesn’t happen in a vacuum, but through interaction with others. And now a new character enters the scene: the peer group. In childhood, the adult was the central figure. Now, the adolescent turns toward their social group. Friends are no longer just playmates—they become mirrors and references. What they say, do, or think matters a lot. So much, in fact, that your teen might change the way they dress, speak, or even their music taste just to fit in. Yes, even if that means listening for hours to songs that sound, to you, like they were created for an alien summoning ritual.

Vygotsky would say this isn’t betrayal—it’s a natural part of development. Adolescents need to test themselves in new environments, to contrast what they learned at home with what they see in the world. It’s part of building their identity, a concept that Erik Erikson—another classic in psychology—called the “search for self.” For Erikson, this stage is marked by the conflict between “identity vs. role confusion.” Basically, they’re in full: “Who am I and what am I supposed to do with everything I feel, think, and want?” mode.

And of course, in the midst of this internal revolution, the relationship with parents changes too. They no longer want to be looked at the same way, or be called “my little one” in front of friends, but if they feel insecure, they seek your company like when they were five. Adolescence is a stage where they crave more freedom—but also more containment (though they’ll never admit it). They want to be heard, not lectured. And most of all, they want to feel like their voice matters, even as they’re still learning how to use it wisely.

Academically, this stage brings new challenges. Adolescents no longer learn through imitation or repetition, but because something makes sense to them—because it connects with their world or sparks emotion. (Hello, passionate teachers—you work magic here!). The problem is that the education system often doesn’t match the emotional rhythm of this stage. It’s not uncommon to see brilliant students become disengaged—not due to lack of ability, but due to lack of connection.

That’s why supporting an adolescent is a delicate balancing act. It’s not about imposing, but about accompanying; not about controlling, but about guiding. And yes, sometimes that support happens through awkward silences, eye rolls, and locked doors. But there are also beautiful moments—deep conversations in the middle of the night, unexpected hugs you didn’t see coming.

And if you’re wondering about the cookie, don’t worry—it’s still part of the story. It’s just no longer literal. Now, the broken cookie is the message left on read, the Instagram story where they weren’t tagged, the misunderstanding with their best friend, or the “you left me on seen” that turns into a full-blown Greek tragedy. They no longer cry because the cookie broke, but because the world breaks their heart in small doses, and they don’t yet know how to put the pieces back together.

That’s where you come in—with your unconditional love, infinite patience, and your gift for being present without overwhelming, for holding space without suffocating. Because even if they don’t say it, they still need you to remind them that everything’s going to be okay. Even when their emotional cookie is shattered into crumbs.