The update in progress

Psychologist Erik Erikson called this stage "identity versus role confusion" (1968): adolescence's central psychological task is building a stable answer to "who am I?", trying out different identities before one really fits. That you try different styles, groups, opinions and even ways of speaking within a few months isn't instability: it's the process doing exactly what it's supposed to do.

It's true that the prefrontal cortex —the area that brakes impulses and thinks long-term— doesn't finish maturing until your mid-20s, documented by Jay Giedd (1999) with repeated MRI scans of the same brains over years. But the version going around that "your teen brain can't control itself" is an oversimplification: more recent research (Pfeifer and Allen, 2012; a study with over 5,000 teens across 11 countries, Icenogle et al., 2019) found the famous "imbalance" between impulse and control isn't as universal or as sharp as popularised. The honest science: your brain processes reward and impulse differently, but that doesn't make you someone without agency.

Using "my brain isn't finished" as an excuse not to take responsibility for anything. The science explains why some things are harder for you, it doesn't excuse you from trying.

Puberty activates the limbic system (amygdala included) long before the prefrontal cortex finishes maturing — a timing gap documented by Linda Spear (2000) in her classic review of the adolescent brain. The result: emotions arrive at maximum intensity while the "remote control" that regulates them is still being wired. It's not that you feel too much: it's that the hardware for feeling is years ahead of the software for regulating.

Next time you feel something at a volume you didn't expect (anger over something small, sudden sadness), try saying in your head: "this is a spike, not a truth about me". You don't have to change it instantly, just naming it already lowers the intensity a bit.

You're not imagining it: your peer group's opinion matters to you, biologically, more now than at any other stage of your life. Sarah-Jayne Blakemore and colleagues (2014) show the "social brain" —the networks that process what others think of you— reorganises during adolescence, and Leah Somerville (2013) documents that sensitivity to social evaluation (fear of looking bad) peaks precisely in these years, higher than in childhood or adulthood.

Caring so much about what others think of you at school or in your group doesn't make you shallow or weak: it's your social brain working at exactly the power it's supposed to at your age.

Leon Festinger already explained social comparison back in 1954: we constantly measure ourselves against others to know where we stand. The problem with social media isn't that comparison exists —it's inevitable and human— it's that it shows you the edited highlight reel of thousands of people at once, always upward, without a break.

And real honesty is needed here: the widespread panic that "social media causes teen depression" is weaker than headlines suggest. Amy Orben and Andrew Przybylski (2019), analysing data from over 350,000 teens with hundreds of different ways of measuring the effect, found the association between social media use and wellbeing is real but tiny —about the size of eating potatoes or wearing glasses— much smaller than public discourse suggests. What does matter, according to the research itself: HOW you use social media (passive-comparative vs. active-social) outweighs HOW MUCH time.

Open your favourite social network and notice: how much of what you see is people showing their best, edited moment, and how much is real unfiltered people? The ratio tells you why comparing yourself to that feed will never be fair.

Racing heart, knot in your stomach, chest tightness before an exam or speaking in class: that's your alarm system (the amygdala, again) warning of a threat that isn't physical but that your body treats exactly as if it were. It's not "being weak", it's a very old survival system reacting to a modern world —exams, notifications, looking bad in front of people— it wasn't fully designed for.

Puberty isn't just visible changes: hormones (oestrogen, testosterone) act directly on brain regions that process emotions, increasing amygdala reactivity to social and emotional stimuli —documented by Linda Spear in her 2000 review of the adolescent brain. That's why things that didn't used to affect you (a look, a comment, a silence) can now feel huge: your brain literally processes them more intensely than a couple of years ago.

When you notice your chest tighten or your pulse race before something (an exam, speaking in public, a text that doesn't arrive), try inhaling for a count of 4 and exhaling for a count of 6, several times in a row. Exhaling slower than you inhale tells your alarm system the threat has passed, even before your head fully believes it.

That a breakup with your first relationship leaves you wrecked isn't "teen drama": Naomi Eisenberger and Matthew Lieberman (2003) showed with MRI scans that social rejection activates the same brain regions as physical pain (the anterior cingulate cortex). And Helen Fisher and her team (2010), studying recently rejected young people, found activation in areas linked to craving and addiction —similar to what's seen in withdrawal. Your brain isn't exaggerating: it processes losing someone you love in a way very similar to losing something you depended on.

Believing that if it doesn't hurt as much anymore, it wasn't real love. No. The pain fading with time doesn't erase what you felt: it just means your brain is stopping processing it as an emergency. What you felt was real both when it hurt and when it stops hurting.

Research on barriers to help-seeking in teens (Rickwood and colleagues, 2007 review) finds the number one reason for NOT asking for help isn't that it isn't needed: it's fear of what others will think and not knowing who to turn to. If you feel something's overwhelming you —sadness that won't go away, constant anxiety, thoughts of hurting yourself—, talking to a trusted adult or a professional isn't admitting defeat. It's exactly what anyone who understands how a system works would do: ask for tech support when something's beyond what you can fix alone.

If you're going through a really hard time or someone's hurting you, talk to a trusted adult. In Spain: 024 (free, 24h) or 112 for emergencies. Asking doesn't make you less strong: it makes you someone who knows when they need backup.

Philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre summed up something useful for this stage: "existence precedes essence" — you exist first, and you build who you are through what you do, not the other way round. There's no hidden "true you" waiting to be discovered all at once: there's a you that keeps writing itself, decision by decision, try by try. That's not unsettling: it's freedom. You don't have to get the final version right today. You just have to keep running the update.

Think of one small thing you did this week —something you said, something you chose, something you said no to— that feels more like who you want to be than who you're expected to be. It doesn't have to be big. It just has to be yours.