Adolescence: The Wandering Years

My name is Du Sujuan. I am a professor at East China University of Political Science and Law, and also the creator of the Bilibili channel Du Sujuan Talks Literature.

I’ve been teaching at university for twenty-six years, focusing on adolescent growth and development.

The topic I’d like to discuss today is Adolescence: The Wandering Years—to explore a question that concerns many of us: the so-called rebellious phase of youth.

Is the Rebellious Stage of Youth Really a Mistake?

The term “adolescent rebellion” itself is one I disagree with.

Look closely: what does rebellion mean? It means opposing what’s considered correct.

And what does defiance mean? It means going against elders or authority.

So when we use the phrase adolescent rebellion to define a young person or a particular stage of their growth, we’ve already presupposed that it’s something wrong.

But is it?

To answer that, I want to introduce a book by the German writer Hermann Hesse—many of you may know it: Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair’s Youth.

It tells the story of a boy named Sinclair, who grows up in a well-mannered, loving family.

His parents are kind; he works hard to be the good child they expect him to be.

His childhood is peaceful, warm, and almost fairy-tale-like.

But anyone who has grown up knows—this state is temporary. Because every child must grow.

As I’ve written on my presentation slide:

“One day, sooner or later, we must come face-to-face with the complexity of the world.”

So Sinclair begins to encounter unexpected realities—bad people, bad events, injustice within peer groups.

He even experiences bullying and humiliation.

Like many children, he is terrified.

That moment marks the end of his childhood.

As Sinclair says: “My childhood has turned into ruins.”

The Shift from Childhood to Adolescence

What’s the biggest difference between childhood and adolescence?

In childhood, our lives overlap heavily with our parents’.

We rarely step outside their gaze; their control is effective because our world is small.

But adolescence means stepping beyond that parental field of vision.

The new challenges and problems that appear may gradually slip beyond their control.

The child has entered a new stage—and feels frightened.

At that moment, they need parental help and guidance more than ever.

Unfortunately, Sinclair’s parents failed to catch that silent signal of distress.

Like many parents, they made the same simple mistake: they instinctively wanted their child to stay in childhood forever.

So they treated their growing child as if he were still in the cradle, believing that as long as he remained simple, pure, obedient, and compliant, he would be safe.

But clearly, that isn’t true.

Their relationship began to shake.

Sinclair realized his parents weren’t as wise or capable as he once imagined—they didn’t even notice his new struggles.

Their advice and care, though well-intentioned, were irrelevant and ineffective.

So we see a familiar scene:

Sinclair stopped trusting his parents.

He no longer shared secrets with them—because it was useless.

Their “care,” lacking relevance, turned into nagging repetition.

Meanwhile, his parents remained unaware, still demanding obedience:

“You must listen; you must comply.”

Pushed to the opposite side, Sinclair’s response was predictable:

“If you want me simple, I’ll become complicated.

If you want me pure, I’ll become chaotic.

If you want me obedient, I’ll become sharp.”

He used rebellion to assert existence.

Once a neat, polite boy, he began dressing sloppily, drinking, fighting—

acts that both expressed dissatisfaction and begged for attention.

His parents pleaded: “Don’t do this. Be a good boy.”

When it failed, they threatened: “We’ll send you to a reform school.”

Sinclair only sneered, unmoved.

That, we all recognize, is the so-called rebellious phase.

Parents grow desperate, helpless, declaring: “It’s over—the rebellion has begun.”

But today I want to ask:

Is adolescent rebellion really a disaster of human growth?

Or is it perhaps a turning point for self-development?

The Logic Beneath Rebellion

Why does rebellion happen?

At its core, it’s simple:

A young person is sending this message:

“I want help.

I’m facing a more complex world.

I need independent thought.

I need to make my own choices.”

How can that be bad?

We all know that a child who never learns to walk is in danger;

a child who never learns to speak will face hardship.

So I ask:

If a person never learns independent judgment or critical thought—

isn’t that even more dangerous?

So what we call rebellion is really the birth of self-awareness,

the first step of self-growth.

Wise parents recognize this.

They observe carefully—what are my child’s interests? strengths? struggles?

Then they work with the child, not over them, to form a new plan for this stage of growth.

It’s like helping a young tree branch out, or a baby bird crack its shell—

guiding it, not caging it.

There’s a book titled Educated—literally “You Should Fly Toward Your Mountain.”

If parents can understand that, they achieve two great things:

1. They support their child.

2. They release their child.

In that way, they turn the “rebellious phase” into an opportunity for growth.

So, my conclusion:

Rebellion is not necessarily bad.

Rebellion is like a two-sided card—

on one side, disobedience;

on the other, the birth of selfhood.

The Hidden Risk of “Good” Children

Now let’s flip the other card—the one labeled “obedient.”

Yes, obedience looks good on the surface: a polite, compliant child.

But turn it over, and you may see repression and suffocation of individuality.

Often, a child who never rebels may face greater risks in life—risks unseen by adults.

When a child tries to voice opinions or make choices, and is constantly suppressed,

they retreat.

They revert to being the “good child” their parents prefer.

That choice can lead to a lifetime of quiet suffering.

Many such youths develop people-pleasing personalities.

Because they never built a stable sense of self in adolescence,

they live for others—first for their parents’ pride,

then for teachers’ approval,

later for bosses’ praise.

They think:

“If others don’t like me, I have no value.”

They walk on eggshells, scanning faces for approval.

A slight frown from someone can trigger days of inner turmoil.

People-pleasers are self-doubting, overly self-critical,

quick to forgive others, harsh toward themselves.

They’re perfectionists—never resting, never allowing error—

because they believe only perfection earns love.

That’s the “good-child syndrome.”

But no one can suppress selfhood forever.

The longer it’s delayed, the more painful the awakening.

As Byron said, “Because of gentleness, I was suppressed.”

That’s why many thirty- or forty-year-olds now speak of “re-parenting”—trying to rebuild the self that grew wrong.

It’s heartbreaking: patching an already-formed life is hard and costly.

If we can see this earlier, perhaps we can awaken sooner.

I Don’t Like the Term “Rebellion”

When a young person cries out, “It’s my life—I’ll decide,”

we must hear the real message beneath it.

Not “I reject you,”

but “I am growing.”

In Demian, Hesse calls this the breaking of the shell.

He compares the youth to a bird struggling out of a dark orb toward a blue sky—

a moment full of power and brilliance.

Only by breaking the shell can we take another step toward selfhood.

If we understand this, we can empathize with a youth’s pain in early self-awareness,

and offer timely help.

Sinclair said, “I feel I’ve grown a soul that doesn’t fit with others.”

Many young people feel that way—different from peers,

from the majority,

from parental expectations.

They panic.

But I want to tell them:

that difference might be your self sprouting.

Protect it.

So I prefer not to call it rebellion,

but rather adolescent growth,

adolescent exploration,

or adolescent difficulty.

Finding oneself is hard.

That lonely boy standing helpless in the wind—

if we understand that,

we can discuss adolescence more deeply and kindly.

The Risks of Self-Formation

When a youth tries to break their shell—to explore, to form selfhood—

it’s risky. I’ve observed three common outcomes.

First:

When expressing one’s opinion leads to rejection or punishment,

they may shrink back into the shell—return to the safety of obedience.

They lose courage to think or act.

A person without independent thought or judgment will drift passively through life.

Second:

Some become true contrarians—the angry rebels, the “keyboard warriors.”

They never let you finish speaking before interrupting.

They mistake opposition for depth.

Hesse called this “the roaring soul.”

He described it vividly:

“I don’t know what’s right—I only know to mock what you call right.

I don’t know what to uphold—I only uphold what you oppose.”

That’s blind defiance, or what psychology calls reactive thinking—

deriving identity purely through opposition.

Third:

Some, when hurt, turn inward—not against others but against themselves.

They fall into self-destruction.

“If I can’t fight the world, I’ll fight myself.

I’m useless. I shouldn’t exist.”

Sinclair once said bitterly:

“If the world has no place for people like me,

if there’s no task suited to us,

then people like us can only destroy ourselves—

and let the world bear the cost.”

Without proper guidance, youth can fall into any of these traps.

That’s why adolescence is so perilous—and so crucial.

Advice for the Young

In Demian, Sinclair says:

“All I want is to live by my own inner truth—why is that so hard?”

Every time I read that line, it breaks my heart.

What makes a child lament,

“I don’t ask for much—just to not betray myself. Why is it so difficult?”

We all need to reflect on that.

And I want to give young people a few thoughts.

1. Life Is Difficult — That’s Its Nature

Yes, growth is hard.

But so is life as a whole.

Difficulty is life’s background color.

Lu Xun, in his darkest years, wrote Wild Grass to encourage himself to keep going.

In it he wrote a cryptic line:

“To see nothing in every eye,

To find salvation in hopelessness.”

He meant:

Life’s essence is emptiness and uncertainty.

We often have no resources, no immediate hope—and that’s normal.

Once you accept that, hardship stops frightening you.

You realize no one grows through smooth sailing.

He wrote in another piece, Farewell to the Shadow:

“I wander between light and dark, not knowing if it’s dusk or dawn.

I raise my gray hand, pretending to drink a cup of wine.

I will walk alone, not knowing when or where I go.”

Whenever I feel lazy, or hopeless, I reread that passage.

It reminds me: life is uncertain.

We don’t know if what’s ahead is sunrise or sunset—but that’s fine.

Just pretend to drink that wine—that’s courage.

Encourage yourself, keep walking.

The sun will rise again.

That’s the quiet strength in Lu Xun’s gray-toned prose.

If we grasp that, maybe we’ll fear hardship less.

2. Mistakes Are Necessary

We dread mistakes—but there’s a paradox.

How can we know right without first being wrong?

Think of studying: the only way to improve accuracy is by repeatedly doing wrong questions.

Life is a notebook of wrong answers.

We grow by analyzing, sorting, and learning from them.

Mistakes point us toward truth.

3. Verification and Falsification

Just now, I listened to Professor Zhang Shuangnan’s talk—he used two terms: verification and falsification.

In life, we need both.

What’s falsification?

Let me tell you my own story.

When I was in high school, our parents used to scare us:

“If you don’t get into college, you’ll have no future. You’ll end up miserable.”

That fear pushed me to study hard.

But unfortunately, I failed my college entrance exam.

The verdict seemed final: It’s over.

Standing on a bridge over the canal, I thought of ending my life—

because I believed what the adults had told me.

If I couldn’t live with dignity, I might as well die.

At the last moment, I made a decision:

“Forget it. I’m young. Let’s at least do an experiment.”

They all said I was finished—fine.

Let me live on and see if I really am.

So I lived.

Five years later, I was admitted to graduate school.

Since then, I’ve never feared anyone’s threatening conclusions again.

Why?

Because I falsified them.

I proved they were wrong.

No single mistake or fall can destroy your life.

Once you verify that, you’ll never fear it again.

Since that falsification at sixteen, I’ve never feared hardship or failure—

because I know those threats were lies.

Hesse once wrote:

“The path to face yourself, to find yourself,

must be walked by your own strength.”

4. Communication

Many young people think wisdom means winning arguments.

That’s wrong.

True thought is inclusive.

If the world is like an elephant,

each of us can only see a part.

We cannot know the whole.

So how do we broaden our understanding?

When someone else describes the elephant differently,

we should accept their perspective,

see through their eyes,

and integrate their reasoning into our own understanding.

That’s what a true thinker does.

In growing up, learn to ask:

“Does what others say make sense?”

For Parents: The Science of Facing Adolescence

I know many parents are here today—with their children, or as future parents.

We must also speak to you.

To help children grow smoothly, adults must first learn the scientific posture for facing adolescence.

First:

Reject the rigid notion of “rebellion.”

See the growth opportunity behind it.

People my age often complain:

“This generation is spoiled, dependent, incapable of independent thought.”

But whenever I hear such complaints, I want to laugh.

When your child struggled to speak for themselves,

did you listen?

Did you encourage?

Did you support their independent thinking?

It’s like a bird breaking from its shell.

We fear it flying too far,

so we tie its legs and clip its wings.

Then, years later, we complain: “Why aren’t you an eagle?”

Second:

As elders—parents or teachers—we must let go of arrogance.

We often say, “No matter how old you are, you’ll always be my child.”

My parents said that to me too.

But think: how can someone be a child forever?

Seeing them that way means subconsciously believing,

“My child will never manage without me.”

We crown ourselves their regents,

ruling their lives indefinitely.

But living someone else’s life for them is impossible.

Giving meaningful guidance requires us to grow alongside our children.

Yet many parents refuse to learn; they try to direct without understanding.

When their children reach adulthood, they know nothing about their world or struggles.

They become alarm clocks:

ringing at milestones—

“You must apply to this school.”

“You must get this job.”

“You must take the postgraduate exam, take the civil service exam, get married, have children…”

But they never ask:

What problems does my child face right now?

What challenges?

They think ringing that alarm ensures safety.

But it doesn’t.

It’s interference.

Because those alarms are socially fixed patterns,

not individualized rhythms.

How can fourteen hundred million people live by the same schedule?

That rigidity itself is the problem.

So when we overmanage our children,

I think of one sentence:

“In our time, the naïve ones aren’t the kids—it’s the parents.”

I’m a mother too, and I was once a teenager.

As elders, we need self-discipline—

to restrain our arrogance.

That’s our own spiritual practice.

Hesse said, “The bird fights to break the shell.”

And those who must break shells are not only children—

but also parents and teachers.

We, too, must constantly shatter old knowledge,

build new understanding,

and keep exploring to keep pace with youth.

People often ask me,

“Professor Du, how can you, in your fifties, still empathize with freshmen?”

I tell them:

“It’s not that I’m wise—it’s that I keep learning from them.

My students lead me forward.”

Life is a journey toward the self.

Everyone’s growth is ongoing.

So growth is not just the youth’s mission—it’s alsoSo growth is not just the youth’s mission—it’s also the elders’.

That’s why I’m so moved to see what I see here today: many parents sitting beside their children, listening together.

That, I think, is the most beautiful scene—because it shows a shared willingness to explore growth.

If we can do that—if we can grow together—then during a child’s difficult, searching, formative years, we can learn to understand one another better, to support one another better.

And ultimately, we’ll achieve what should be our shared goal:

Mutual understanding.

Mutual support.

And, most importantly, mutual growth.

Thank you.