The chapter linked below is from the book, Tough Kids, Cool Counseling: User-Friendly Strategies for Working with Challenging Youth. The book was published in 2007, so the language is outdated and some ways we talk about youth have changed. For example, we’re no longer comfortable with the term “Tough Kids” because referring to youth as “tough” centers the problem in them, which isn’t fair and can make change more difficult. We have a different philosophy now (please excuse the language as I make my point):

In the beginning, we thought our “tough kids” book title was clever. Sometimes Rita and I argued about who came up with our ingeniously clever title. But now we’re uncomfortable with message embedded in the title. We believe we were wrong to label youth as “tough.” There are no tough kids. There are only kids in tough situations. And one, among many tough situations young people face, is counseling. When they roll their eyes, tell us to fuck off, or refuse to talk, we shouldn’t blame them; we shouldn’t call them difficult, disturbed, or tough. Blaming young people for behaving in ways that appear defensive, obnoxious, or resistant contributes to the problem. Too often we make the mistake of thinking we’re special (we’re not) and that young people should automatically respect us (they won’t) or that they should bow to the alter of our guidance (which is as flawed as we are). Working with youth requires humility, acceptance, creativity, and compassion. We should seek to communicate to all young people who enter our space that there is no other place we’d rather be than in the room with them—without ever directly saying that there is no other place we’d rather be than in the room with them. We call that radical interest. But we’re not talking about radical interest in helping or radical interest in being competent or radical interest in social justice (all of which are great things). We’re talking about radical interest in another living, breathing, person who in this present moment, is experiencing a challenging life, part of which involves being in the room with a fucking counselor.

Not long ago, a friend called me and wanted to read me a quote from the book, “My Friends” by Fredrik Backman. He said the quote made him think of me. He read it. I loved it.

Louisa is a teenager, the best kind of human. The evidence for this is very simple: little children think teenagers are the best humans, and teenagers think teenagers are the best humans, the only people who don’t think that teenagers are the best humans are adults. Which is obviously because adults are the worst kind of humans (p. 1).

I’m honored my friend thought of me when he read this passage. I wish all teens could automatically sense that I think they’re the best humans. But unfortunately, adults are so often so dismissive and demeaning of teenagers that teenagers typically assume the opposite is true. That translates into the sad fact that if we’re going to convince teenagers we think they’re the best humans, we must do the direct and indirect work, which is not easy because we’ve been so effective—as individuals and as a society—to make teenagers think they’re the worst humans.

Here’s a link to the chapter. I hope it helps you convince teenagers they’re the best humans.