Why Don’t They Teach This in Every School

I still remember the day I realized school never taught me how to be happy.

It was a rainy Tuesday, the kind that makes everything feel heavier. I was twenty-four, sitting in a cramped break room at my third job in two years, staring blankly into a cup of cheap coffee. Around me, fluorescent lights hummed softly, and the air smelled faintly of reheated noodles. My coworker, Jessie, was venting about her rent going up again. Another coworker nodded while scrolling through a feed full of people pretending to be happier than they probably were.

I looked around and suddenly thought: Why does no one seem okay?

We’d all done the “right” things, hadn’t we? We passed the tests, went to school, checked the boxes. We could calculate square roots and write essays on symbolism in 19th-century poetry. But not one of us could explain why we felt empty, overwhelmed, or like we were constantly falling short of some invisible mark.

That’s when the question hit me: Why don’t they teach this in every school?

Chapter One: What I Needed and Never Got

In school, we learn math, science, grammar, history. But no one ever sat us down and taught us how to deal with rejection. No one showed us how to cope with anxiety. No class covered what to do when your heart breaks for the first time, or how to handle that low, creeping feeling of not being good enough.

We were trained to chase success, but not how to define it for ourselves.

We memorized facts, but never how to quiet the war going on inside our heads.

We were taught how to diagram a sentence, but not how to have a meaningful conversation with someone we love.

In my case, I’d graduated top of my class. Everyone said I’d do great things. But “great” meant something different to me now than it did when I was sitting in a cap and gown.

Because all my education hadn’t taught me how to be kind to myself.

It hadn’t taught me how to deal with the pressure of perfectionism.

It hadn’t taught me how to ask for help, or how to accept love without feeling like I had to earn it.

Chapter Two: The Unexpected Teacher

Ironically, my first lesson in emotional intelligence came from someone who never finished college—my grandfather.

He was quiet, the kind of man who said little but noticed everything. One evening, I came over to visit, exhausted and tense from work. I didn’t say much, just dropped onto the old plaid couch and sighed. He handed me a cup of tea and sat beside me.

Then he said something I’ll never forget:

"You spend all your energy trying to be something to everyone. But when do you get to just be you?"

That sentence cracked something open in me.

We talked for hours that night. He told me stories about his own struggles—moments of failure, heartbreak, change. But what stood out most was how deeply he understood himself. He’d learned to listen to his emotions instead of fighting them. He’d learned to forgive himself, to say no when he needed to, to find meaning even in pain.

These were the lessons I had never been taught in school.

Chapter Three: What Should Be Taught

Imagine if every student learned how to process failure without shame.

What if there were classes on empathy, resilience, active listening, and setting boundaries?

What if “success” wasn’t measured by GPA, but by how well we understood ourselves and others?

We need emotional education.

Not just the “say no to drugs” lectures or the single health class unit on stress.

Real, ongoing conversations about mental health, emotional intelligence, communication, and purpose.

Teach kids how to sit with discomfort without running from it.

Show them how to express anger without hurting others.

Help them identify their core values so they don’t spend decades chasing someone else’s dreams.

Let them explore how to be okay with not being okay—without shame.

Chapter Four: What I Teach Myself Now

I’ve made it my mission to learn what school never taught me.

I read books about vulnerability and self-compassion. I go to therapy. I journal about the things that scare me and the moments that light me up. I talk openly about what I feel, even when it’s messy.

Most importantly, I stopped seeing emotions as weaknesses.

I started believing that maybe the bravest thing we can do isn’t hiding our struggles, but facing them with honesty and gentleness.

I’ve also begun speaking at local schools and community centers—just to share what I’ve learned. Sometimes I ask a room full of students, “How many of you know how to manage your stress in a healthy way?” Only a few hands go up. That’s not failure on their part. That’s a failure of the system.

And every time I walk away from those talks, I whisper the same question under my breath: Why don’t they teach this in every school?

Final Chapter: A Lesson for All of Us

This story isn’t about blaming teachers or shaming schools. Most of them are doing the best they can with what they’re given.

This is a call for change.

Because the most powerful tools for living a meaningful, emotionally healthy life aren’t formulas or dates or grammar rules.

They’re the tools of self-awareness, empathy, and connection.

They’re learning to love yourself even when you’re not performing at your best.

They’re knowing how to rest without guilt, how to ask for help, how to fail and try again.

These are the lessons that carry us through the hard nights.

These are the lessons that help us build lives worth living.

So again I ask: Why don’t they teach this in every school?

Maybe one day, they will.

Maybe one day, emotional education will be just as valued as academic success.

And when that happens, I believe we’ll raise a generation not only of thinkers—but of feelers, healers, and world-changers.

Moral of the Story:

True education goes beyond academics. To live a full and meaningful life, we must learn to understand ourselves, embrace our emotions, and treat others—and ourselves—with compassion. Until emotional intelligence is taught alongside math and science, we must take it upon ourselves to learn, grow, and share what truly matters.