During the Covid period, I worked regularly with young adults.

They were referred to me by doctors looking for a different approach, or by parents who simply didn’t know where else to turn. Some had dropped out of school. Others were standing at a crossroads. All of them were struggling — with stress, anxiety, overwhelm, and a deep lack of confidence.

What struck me most wasn’t a lack of intelligence, ambition, or creativity.

It was their inability to express what was going on inside.

Again and again, I heard the same words:

“I don’t know.”

Not because they didn’t care.
Not because they hadn’t thought.

But because they didn’t have the language to unpack their thoughts and emotions.

The quiet gap we rarely talk about

Most native English-speaking adults understand between 20,000 and 40,000 words.

Yet in daily life, we rely on roughly 3,000 words to cover about 95% of our conversations.

The English language itself is expanding — especially in technology — but our active use of language is narrowing.

Sentences are shorter.
Vocabulary is less precise.
Nuance is easily lost.

This isn’t about intelligence.
It’s about habit, speed, and environment.

When reading declines and communication becomes faster and more reactive, we lose opportunities to think out loud, to explore ideas, and to shape meaning through words.

Education teaches knowledge — but neglects expression

This is where I believe we are failing young people.

We ask them to absorb information.
To pass exams.
To meet targets.

But we rarely teach them how to:

• speak with clarity
• write creatively
• debate ideas
• pitch a vision
• or navigate a difficult conversation

Yet these are some of the most important life skills they will ever need.

Confidence doesn’t appear out of nowhere.
It is built through practice — especially verbal practice — in spaces where people are listened to rather than rushed or judged.

“I don’t have a story to tell”

I saw this again when I worked with a group of 17–18-year-olds in a Dutch school, as part of a Next Gen initiative inspired by TEDx.

The students were asked to create a short TED-style talk — in English.

They weren’t uncooperative.
But they were hesitant. Closed. Quiet.

In conversation, many admitted they didn’t feel they had a story to tell — let alone one worth putting on a stage.

At one point, I asked bluntly:

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen… eighteen.”

“Seventeen or eighteen years on this planet — and not one single story to tell?”

That moment revealed something important.

Young people aren’t being encouraged to reflect on their experiences.
They’re not being taught how to shape meaning from what they’ve lived.
They’re not shown that their perspective matters.

Storytelling isn’t indulgent.
It’s a way of thinking.
A way of making sense of the world — and of yourself.

What changes when we slow down and listen

Once we began — gently — to teach thinking, speaking, and storytelling skills, everything shifted.

We didn’t start with performance.
We started with listening.

How to clarify a thought.
How to structure an idea.
How to put words to confusion, doubt, curiosity, or conviction.

Slowly, confidence emerged — not because we told them to be confident, but because they had tools.

And the stories that eventually appeared on that stage?

They were extraordinary.
Honest. Moving. Insightful.

Not because these young people suddenly became talented —
but because they finally had the language to express what was already there.

Language is not a “soft skill”

The ability to speak, reflect, analyse, and connect is not optional.

In a world shaped by speed, automation, and surface-level interaction, it is gold dust.

If we want young people to thrive — not just survive — we must teach them how to use their voice.

Because words don’t just express thought.
They shape it.

And when young people find their language,
they often find themselves.

I’d love to hear your perspective