Introduction: A Controversial Take on Youth Mental Health
Abigail Shrier’s Bad Therapy: Why the Kids Aren’t Growing Up is a bold and provocative investigation into the current youth mental health crisis. Shrier, an investigative journalist (known previously for Irreversible Damage), turns her sights to the “therapeutic mindset” she believes has permeated parenting, education, and counseling. Her core premise is as startling as it is simple: “the problem isn’t the kids—it’s the mental health experts”. In Shrier’s view, far from curing what ails Generation Z, many modern therapeutic practices are actually making things worse. This book is part exposé and part cultural critique, written in an accessible, impassioned tone that blends data, anecdotes, and interviews. It has generated both enthusiastic praise and pointed criticism, ensuring its place in the center of debates about how we raise and support our children today.
The Gen Z Mental Health Crisis and Therapy’s Role
Shrier opens Bad Therapy by surveying the dismal state of Gen Z’s mental well-being. By virtually every metric, today’s young people are struggling: 42% of Generation Z has been diagnosed with a mental health condition, youth suicide rates have climbed, and prescriptions for issues like anxiety and ADHD have skyrocketed. (As Shrier notes, about “ten percent of today’s kids have an ADHD diagnosis, with the number even higher for boys” .) This surge in diagnoses and distress is the backdrop for Shrier’s central question: What if the very remedies we’re using to help kids are part of the problem?
Shrier’s thesis is that much of Gen Z’s emotional distress is iatrogenic – a condition caused inadvertently by the treatment itself. In other words, well-intentioned therapies, counseling interventions, and psychological labels are fueling the youth mental health crisis rather than fixing it. “With unprecedented help from mental health experts, we have raised the loneliest, most anxious, depressed, pessimistic, helpless, and fearful generation on record,” Shrier writes, adding that “as treatments for anxiety and depression have become more sophisticated and more readily available, adolescent anxiety and depression have ballooned.” This paradox – more mental health care than ever, yet worsening mental health – is at the heart of Bad Therapy. Shrier pointedly describes a “therapeutic industrial complex” that has “wormed its way into almost every corner of American life”, from schools and pediatricians’ offices to our very language and parenting styles. The result, she argues, is a generation of young people increasingly defined by fragility and fear.
How Therapeutic Culture is Hurting Kids
1. Pathologizing Normal Emotions and Behavior: Bad Therapy illustrates how a therapeutic mindset can turn ordinary ups and downs of childhood into clinical problems. Every tantrum, bout of sadness, or moment of boredom now invites analysis and often a diagnosis. Frustrated parents, at their wits’ end, may seek out an expert who readily produces a label. Shrier observes that many moms and dads today – often averse to old-fashioned discipline – will “try to reason, cajole, beg, and blackmail” their kids into compliance, and when that fails, “they turn to self-anointed experts to diagnose and solve the problem.” Those experts may slap on a trendy diagnosis from a grab-bag of labels — “sensory processing issues,” “oppositional defiant disorder,” “social anxiety disorder,” or ADHD — labels that sometimes serve as “placebos for parental frustration over their powerlessness”. The explosion in diagnosed “disorders” (42% of youth, as noted) is, in Shrier’s telling, evidence of over-pathologizing normal childhood behavior. It’s easier to call a child disordered than to say childhood can be messy or to admit our parenting strategies need adjustment.
2. Talk Therapy and Rumination: Traditional talk therapy, especially when applied too broadly, can backfire on kids. Shrier argues that encouraging children to constantly articulate and examine their feelings can lead them to marinate in negativity rather than move past it. In the book’s characteristically vivid style, she suggests today’s kids are often encouraged to “marinate obsessively in a murky bath of their own inchoate—and sometimes capricious—feelings.” The result? “Dwelling on your problems, it turns out, can often magnify them,” as one reviewer summarizes Shrier’s point. What was meant as healing talk can become a cycle of rumination. Shrier cites evidence (and many therapists would agree) that focusing on minor or hypothetical issues can actually induce anxiety and depression, especially in otherwise healthy kids who might have been better off distracted by play or challenged by real-world tasks. In short, constantly asking “how are you feeling?” teaches kids to obsess over every emotional hiccup.
3. Social-Emotional Learning (SEL) in Schools: One of Shrier’s targets is the prevalence of social-emotional learning curricula in schools – programs intended to teach kids about emotions, empathy, and mental health. While well-intentioned, SEL can encourage “unceasing attention to feelings” and create a climate of hyper-vigilance about one’s emotional state. Shrier reports that classrooms filled with mindfulness sessions and “emotion check-ins” may inadvertently be nourishing anxiety rather than relieving it. By making emotional self-scrutiny a constant activity, schools could be teaching children to monitor themselves for problems that aren’t there. The book recounts cases of schools instituting mental health surveys or meditation breaks for all students, sometimes with absurd outcomes. (In one striking example from Shrier’s own life, a routine pediatric visit for her ten-year-old son’s stomachache turned into an impromptu suicide screening. A nurse, following protocol, asked the bewildered boy questions like, “In the past few weeks, have you wished you were dead?” —implying suicidal thoughts were normal things to have. This was done after evicting the parent from the room, since “children are more forthcoming about their inner life with a complete stranger… than their parents,” as Shrier notes with evident irony .) Such episodes underscore her point that the mental health profession’s reach has extended into places parents assumed were safe and ordinary, sometimes planting seeds of worry in young minds.
4. “Gentle Parenting” and Lack of Resilience: Shrier is also critical of modern parenting trends that dovetail with therapeutic culture—especially the vogue for ultra-gentle, affirmation-only parenting. The ethos of never raising one’s voice, never imposing firm boundaries (for fear of harming a child’s psyche), can backfire spectacularly. When parents hesitate to be authority figures, children can become “desperate for an adult in charge”. Bad Therapy argues that kids actually crave structure and leadership; without it, they may lash out or spiral. Paradoxically, the attempt to shield kids from emotional discomfort may leave them more emotionally turbulent. Shrier and those she interviews recount how permissive parenting often yields “lost and sullen teenagers” and even little tyrants: preschoolers so undisciplined that they can terrorize everyone around them. The book links this phenomenon with the therapeutic admonition to always validate feelings and never punish – a recipe, Shrier suggests, for children who have never learned to regulate frustration or cope with the word “no.” In essence, coddling kids’ emotions 24/7 can stunt their growth, leaving them ill-equipped for adulthood.
5. The “Therapy Generation” Isn’t Growing Up: All of these factors contribute to what Shrier calls a failure to launch among today’s youth – hence the subtitle Why the Kids Aren’t Growing Up. If you treat a basically healthy teen like a fragile patient, don’t be surprised if they begin to identify as one. Shrier sees a connection between over-therapy/over-accommodation and extended adolescence: young people who remain anxious, dependent, and fearful of the adult world. By medicalizing every misbehavior and medicating away normal angst, we may be depriving kids of the very experiences that build resilience. The book draws a parallel to earlier well-meaning campaigns that backfired. For instance, the anti-drug DARE program from the 1980s actually increased drug curiosity in some studies. Similarly, Shrier warns, saturating kids with therapeutic interventions might be perversely feeding the very epidemics of anxiety and depression we’re trying to curb. It’s a classic case of the cure making the disease worse.
Boys, Young Men, and the “Bad Therapy” Fallout
One area of particular concern – both in Shrier’s book and in broader discussions – is how this therapeutic culture impacts young boys and men. While Bad Therapy addresses youth of all genders, some of its most striking examples and data involve boys. As mentioned, ADHD diagnoses are especially common among boys, reflecting how energetic or unruly male behavior is often quickly labeled as pathology. Shrier implies that in many cases, what used to be considered “boyish” exuberance or mischief is now met with therapists, behavior plans, and pills. The expectation that boys should sit still, talk about their feelings constantly, or be “gentle” and perfectly behaved can clash with developmental reality. When normal boyhood gets medicalized, the young male may internalize that something is fundamentally wrong with him – a potentially damaging message.
Furthermore, Shrier’s critique of gentle parenting and school SEL practices has special resonance for boys. These approaches sometimes prioritize a calm, cooperative, verbally expressive style of behavior that aligns more with typical female social development, whereas many boys are naturally more physical, impulsive, or stoic. In a culture of constant emotional airing, boys who don’t emote on cue may be seen as concerning, and those who act out are swiftly referred to therapists. Shrier doesn’t mince words about the consequences: if we never allow boys to experience hardship, failure, or even the sting of discipline, we shouldn’t be surprised when they fail to mature. She interviews psychologist Jordan Peterson (known for advising young men to take responsibility and face challenges) to underscore the idea that overcoming obstacles is crucial for growth. By contrast, the “every day is a mental health day” ethos can leave young men adrift, lacking purpose and resilience.
Indeed, America is grappling with a generation of young men who struggle to find their footing – sometimes termed “lost boys” or guys in extended adolescence. Bad Therapy suggests that the therapeutic mindset has, inadvertently, played a role in this. For example, treating every disappointment as trauma can encourage a kind of learned helplessness in boys, who might otherwise be learning “rugged” coping skills. The book’s title itself hints at stunted development: kids who aren’t growing up. Many of those kids are male, and the statistics are sobering (rising male teen suicide rates, declining college participation, etc., though Shrier focuses more on the psychological dimension than the economic). By highlighting how “the supposed solution… might be fueling the problem” , Shrier implicitly calls out that young men in particular are not being well served by the status quo. Her work aligns with other authors like Leonard Sax (whom she cites), who worry that overprotective parenting and ubiquitous therapy are sapping boys’ motivation and resilience.
In sum, Bad Therapy shines a spotlight on how a culture of therapeutic overreach can deflate the natural boldness and growth of boys and young men. The book doesn’t claim that males are the only ones hurt by this trend, but it leaves readers with a strong impression that many modern young men are struggling under a system that over-indulges feelings and under-challenges their potential. This focus on boys adds a poignant angle to Shrier’s critique: the very frameworks designed to help kids may be unintentionally clipping the wings of those who historically were encouraged to “toughen up” and face the world.
Strengths of Shrier’s Argument
Shrier’s critique resonates in part because it builds on kernels of truth that many parents and some therapists have observed. Several of her points strike a reasonable chord, even if one disagrees with her full thesis. Notable strengths of Bad Therapy include:
- Highlighting Therapy’s Limits and Risks: Shrier is correct that therapy is not a panacea and can even be harmful in certain cases. By citing research and experts, she notes that in a minority of cases therapy may leave patients worse off – a fact therapists themselves acknowledge . She reminds us of past psychological fads gone awry (think recovered memories, or the hysteria of the Satanic Panic) as cautionary tales . This historical perspective bolsters her argument that good intentions in mental health can have dire unintended consequences.
- Challenging the “Everyone is Traumatized” Narrative: Bad Therapy pushes back on the modern impulse to label every child as traumatized or anxious. Shrier’s voice joins a growing skepticism about over-expanding concepts of trauma. She argues (with examples) that sometimes “individuals dealing with trauma are better served by not talking about it” and that incessant focus on past wounds can prevent healing. In an age when even minor schoolyard conflicts can be dissected in counseling, this perspective is a useful counterweight.
- Calling Out Overmedicalization: The book powerfully illustrates the “medicalization of misbehavior”, as one of Shrier’s cited sources puts it. By questioning the ease with which kids receive psychiatric labels and medications, Shrier voices a concern many parents share: Are we too quick to reach for a diagnosis (and pill bottle) when a child is just being a child? She doesn’t deny that serious mental illness in kids is real, but she urges more discernment before resorting to a clinical label for garden-variety challenges.
- Empowering Parents: Shrier ultimately delivers a message that many anxious parents may need to hear: It’s okay to relax a little. In fact, it’s imperative. She encourages parents to reclaim their authority and common sense from the armies of experts. Parents should trust that not every childhood struggle requires intervention – sometimes, kids just need time, or a firm push, to work things out. At one point, Shrier pointedly advises parents to “take all the stuff you’re doing for your kids … and toss about a third of it out.” In other words, hover less, and let children learn by trial and error. This kind of tough-love advice (Shrier quips that perhaps “most child therapists ought to be fired on the spot” for supplanting parents ) may sound extreme, but it taps into a real craving many families have for greater self-reliance and old-fashioned parenting. By voicing it, Shrier gives permission to parents to step back from hyper-management.
These strengths make Bad Therapy more than just a rant; they underscore issues that even professionals in the field have been grappling with. As therapist Ben Caldwell noted in his review, Shrier “gives voice to those who are skeptical of the notion that every child is traumatized, and therefore every child needs therapy”, reminding the mental health field that overreach can cause harm despite good intentions. Such reminders are valuable. Shrier’s impassioned critique, at its best, sparks a necessary conversation about finding the right balance between supporting kids and over-supporting them.
Criticisms and Caveats: How Solid is Shrier’s Case?
While Bad Therapy raises crucial questions, it has also drawn substantial criticism for some of its claims and methods. It’s important to approach the book with a critical eye. Here are key criticisms that have emerged:
- Selective Research and Anecdotal Evidence: Critics argue that Shrier leans heavily on anecdote and one-sided interviews, while downplaying or ignoring data that might contradict her narrative. For example, Bad Therapy largely cites experts who already agree with Shrier’s thesis. As one reviewer observed, Shrier “used to be a lawyer,” and it sometimes shows in a tendency to “cite mostly friendly sources” to build a case. This approach can paint an exaggerated picture. The book is filled with vivid stories of therapy gone wrong, but provides far fewer examples of therapy working or kids who were genuinely helped by mental health interventions. Some reviewers (even those sympathetic to her concerns) wished Shrier had engaged more with a broad base of scientific evidence rather than what one called a “steady accretion of troubling anecdotes.” The reliance on storytelling over statistics led a Slate reviewer to claim Shrier’s evidence is “purely anecdotal”. This is an overstatement – Shrier does reference studies – but it highlights a perception that the book cherry-picks its facts.
- Sweeping Claims and Exaggerations: Alongside selective evidence, Shrier is prone to bold, sweeping statements that can seem unsupported. Early in the book, she declares mental health care for kids “remarkably under-regulated,” without offering much explanation or evidence. Such a claim surprised many in the profession, who know that therapists must undergo extensive training and licensure. Likewise, Shrier’s assertion that “most child therapists ought to be fired on the spot” is more rhetorical flourish than reasoned analysis – a provocation that undermines her credibility with professionals. Ben Caldwell, a family therapist, notes that Bad Therapy “too often exaggerates the research [it] relies on, makes sweeping claims without support, and makes questionable leaps of logic” . In short, some of Shrier’s points overreach: the substance is there, but wrapped in hyperbole that serious readers may find off-putting or insufficiently substantiated.
- Unfalsifiable Arguments: Some have taken issue with Shrier’s way of framing her thesis in a manner that is hard to disprove. Notably, Shrier adds a disclaimer that her critique applies only to unnecessary therapy for otherwise typical kids – not to children with severe, clear-cut psychiatric illnesses. This is fair on its face (she’s not dismissing the need for legitimate mental health care in serious cases). However, it creates a bit of a tautology: if a child was harmed by therapy, Shrier can say the therapy was unnecessary to begin with; if a child truly needed therapy, then Shrier isn’t talking about them. By definition, “therapy is only actually bad… when it’s not really needed,” as Caldwell wryly observes. This framework conveniently shields Shrier’s thesis from counterexamples (cases where therapy helped a mild issue, for instance). It also raises the question: how do we definitively know which kids truly need help and which would be fine without it? Practitioners like Dr. Leonard Sax caution that deciding not to treat a “lonely, lost, sad” child is not so simple in the real world . A clinician must err on the side of caution – if they tell a parent to just “walk it off” and the child harms themselves, the cost is unthinkable. Shrier, as a journalist, doesn’t bear that responsibility. Her critics argue that she sometimes makes light of the real dilemmas facing those who work with youth: namely, the risk of missing a serious problem by under-treating. In simplifying these issues, Shrier can come across as dismissive of the genuine complexity in distinguishing normal angst from clinical depression.
- Tone: Preaching to the Choir: The tone of Bad Therapy has been described as impassioned but not always persuasive to skeptics. Shrier can be sarcastic (even caustic) toward therapists and “elite” parenting trends, which makes for engaging reading, but may alienate readers who don’t already share her outlook. In places, the book “reads like she’s preaching to the choir,” as Caldwell puts it. Indeed, Shrier frequently references figures popular in conservative or anti-establishment circles (for instance, multiple shout-outs to podcaster Joe Rogan, and that interview with Jordan Peterson). These nods signal an implicit target audience. A Slate reviewer astutely noted that Shrier “surely knows that several of her arguments… resonate with liberal parents too. But she has no real interest in engaging with those readers.” In other words, the book sometimes forgoes an opportunity to build broader consensus in favor of rallying those already inclined to agree that “woke” therapists and overprotective schools are a menace. This limits its reach. Readers looking for a nuanced exploration will find Shrier’s one-sided approach frustrating at times, even if they concede she has valid points.
In weighing these criticisms, it’s clear that Bad Therapy is a conversation starter rather than the final word. The book’s research can be spotty, and its provocations occasionally outrun its proofs. Yet, even critics admit Shrier is onto something real. The mental health field does need to continually self-reflect, and parents do need to calibrate how much protection is too much. Bad Therapy may not provide a meticulous scholarly roadmap on these issues, but it throws down a gauntlet that others (researchers, educators, and clinicians) can pick up with more rigor. As one sympathetic reviewer noted, an abundance of anecdotes doesn’t prove a thesis, but “a steady accretion of troubling anecdotes may signal a cultural shift… important enough for further attention, including more rigorous study.” In that sense, Shrier’s work succeeds: it demands we pay attention, even if we dispute some of her claims.
Conclusion: From Bad Therapy to Better Solutions – A Path Forward for Boys and Men
Bad Therapy: Why the Kids Aren’t Growing Up concludes with a call to rethink how we support the rising generation. Shrier’s overarching message is that we must re-balance our approach: less knee-jerk therapy and more real-life challenge, less expert-driven intervention and more old-fashioned parenting and community support. The themes she raises – building resilience, encouraging independence, and carefully scrutinizing the mental-health industry – point toward solutions that lie outside the narrow confines of a therapist’s office.
One such solution is to foster community and peer support, especially for those who feel ill-served by traditional therapy. This is precisely where groupsformen.com and similar initiatives come into play. If Shrier laments a therapeutic culture that can leave (especially) young men feeling disempowered or pathologized, platforms like groupsformen.com offer a constructive alternative. These men’s support groups provide exactly what many alienated young men need: a space to “connect, share experiences, and offer mutual support” without the pressure of a clinical diagnosis. Such groups acknowledge that men often deal with struggles in a different way – sometimes preferring action and camaraderie over introspection on a couch. Rather than encouraging endless rumination, a support group of peers can gently nudge a man to solve problems, take responsibility, and realize he’s not alone in his challenges. In short, it builds the kind of resilience and fellowship that Shrier champions in her book.
For example, if a young man has grown up being told to constantly monitor his mental state, he might find it liberating to join a men’s group focused on practical goal-setting or overcoming obstacles. Programs through groupsformen.com emphasize personal growth, accountability, and skill-building – an antidote to the passivity that “bad therapy” can sometimes induce. They also combat the isolation that Shrier notes is rampant among the youth: instead of a lonely teenager with a diagnosis, picture that teen (now a young adult) finding brotherhood and mentorship in a group of men who’ve faced similar issues. This kind of collective support harkens back to age-old modes of growth (think rites of passage, team sports, or simply a band of friends) that don’t stigmatize normal struggles but help one overcome them. It’s not that therapy has no place – as Shrier herself concedes, “good therapy for young people with serious… issues is often helpful and sometimes downright necessary”. But for the many who fall into the gray area – those who are “lonely, lost, and sad” but not clinically ill – community-based solutions can be a game-changer.
In aligning the book’s insights with the mission of groupsformen.com, a hopeful vision emerges: one where parents, educators, and yes, peers, reclaim some of the territory ceded to the mental-health industry. Shrier argues that parents should “reassert themselves” in their children’s lives; similarly, groupsformen.com embodies the idea that men can take charge of their well-being by banding together and learning from each other. Both point toward empowerment over dependency. The takeaway is not to reject therapy outright, but to recognize its limits and explore complementary paths to wellness. For the young men and boys who have been told they’re “broken” when they’re really just going through the aches and pains of growing up, this approach offers reassurance and concrete help.
In conclusion, Bad Therapy is a thought-provoking, if imperfect, contribution to our understanding of today’s youth mental health woes. Shrier’s work shines a light on the unintended negative impacts of certain therapeutic practices, especially highlighting how boys and young men can be caught in the undertow of a culture that overemphasizes emotional safety at the expense of growth. Whether or not one agrees with all her assertions, her clarion call to let kids (and their parents) regain some grit and autonomy is one that resonates. And as we seek solutions, initiatives like groupsformen.com show a promising way forward – one that blends support with self-reliance, and care with challenge. This balanced approach might well be the key to helping the next generation grow up healthy, resilient, and ready to thrive.