They Are Still Children

There is a strange paradox that lives inside recovery when the people we are supporting are teenagers.

They have seen more than most children should. Addiction, mental health challenges, loss, fear, and vulnerability have entered their lives far earlier than expected. They have carried adult-sized experiences before they had the tools to understand or manage them. And because of that, it can be easy to forget.

They are still children.

Yes, they are teenagers with substance use disorder. Yes, many also struggle with anxiety, depression, and other mental health challenges. Yes, they have placed themselves in vulnerable and sometimes dangerous situations. All of this is true. And still, they are children who are growing, learning, and maturing in real time.

Part of our work is helping them take responsibility. Learning how to do laundry. Understanding why wet clothes cannot sit in the washing machine. Cleaning a bathroom properly. Learning how to cook simple meals. These things may seem small, but for many of our boys, they were never consistently taught or expected. Recovery is not just emotional work. It is practical. It is learning how to take care of yourself in the most basic ways.

At the same time, recovery must also make room for something else.

Play.

Each morning, we hold group conversations that ask our residents to look honestly at their actions and to consider the importance of being of service to others. We talk about accountability. We talk about showing up. We talk about what it means to support someone who is newer in recovery. Some of these boys have months of sobriety. Others have years. Many now hold important leadership roles within our community. They help new residents find their footing. They attend meetings in the broader recovery community. They offer their experience, strength, and hope.

They are doing work that would challenge most adults.

And then, hours later, they are opening toys and candy during Family Day, laughing without restraint. The next day they are building Lego sets and decorating gingerbread houses, leaning in with the same unguarded excitement you would see in any child receiving a gift.

This past weekend, during our December challenge, the boys wrapped each other in toilet paper to make snowmen. They hung candy canes from strings using only their mouths. They tossed rings onto reindeer antlers worn by their peers. They slurped pudding through straws.

It was loud. It was silly. It was joyful.

Staff filled the room. Laughter echoed through the space. For those moments, the weight of the world lifted, and what remained were teenage boys doing exactly what teenage boys are supposed to do. Having fun. Being together. Feeling safe.

The weekend ended with a birthday dinner at a local restaurant. Eleven boys, staff, my husband, and I gathered to celebrate a young man turning seventeen. They were respectful. They enjoyed the food. They laughed with one another. It was perfectly, ordinarily beautiful.

These young people live in a complicated space. They are asked to reflect deeply, to take responsibility, and to grow in ways that many adults find challenging. At the same time, they are still learning who they are. They are rediscovering parts of childhood that was interrupted. They are rebuilding trust with themselves and with others.

Our role is to hold all of it.

To honor their resilience without asking them to grow up too fast. To teach responsibility while protecting joy. To recognize their strength while remembering their age.

They are incredible young people. And they are still children.