A global survey of young people aged 16 to 25 found that 84% are at least moderately worried about climate change, and nearly half say it negatively affects their daily lives. (Dana DiFilippo | New Jersey Monitor)
By Lucas Garfinkel
Two summers ago, the skies over New Jersey turned a surreal shade of orange. Schools canceled recess, parents debated whether it was safe to let kids play outside, and doctors treated a surge of patients struggling to breathe. The culprit was wildfire smoke drifting from hundreds of miles away.
Not long after, while on my pediatrics rotation at Cooper University Hospital, I met a 10-year-old with asthma whose parents brought him in for a follow-up. His lungs had healed, but emotionally, he was stuck. He refused to play outside, convinced the air would still make him sick. His parents worried less about his lung function tests and more about the fact that their once-active son no longer felt safe riding his bike. The smoke had cleared, but the fear lingered.
From personal to professional
As a medical student planning to pursue psychiatry, I see how climate anxiety shapes the way young people think, cope, and dream. I’ve felt it myself, the sense that the fate of the planet rests on our shoulders, too daunting to fully process and too urgent to ignore. For some, this worry becomes paralyzing. For others, it fuels activism, sometimes at the cost of burnout.
Anxiety itself isn’t the problem. It’s our brain’s way of signaling that something matters. The danger comes when the immensity of the crisis convinces us there’s nothing we can do, and we face it alone.
The rise of climate anxiety
Climate anxiety isn’t a formal diagnosis, but it is real and growing. A global survey of young people ages 16 to 25 found that 84% are at least moderately worried about climate change, and nearly half say it negatively affects their daily lives. A UNICEF report estimates that 1 billion children will be at “extremely high risk” from climate change. Children and young adults are already particularly vulnerable to the effects of chronic stress. As a result, climate anxiety may affect their risk of developing depression, anxiety, and substance use disorders.
In New Jersey, where flooding, hurricanes, and air quality alerts are increasingly common, kids don’t need to imagine what climate change might do — they’ve already lived through it. Unlike past generations, today’s youth are asked to wrestle with existential questions long before they’re developmentally ready. Adolescence is supposed to be about identity and possibility. Instead, many are left wondering if those futures will even exist. Social media magnifies it: Every scroll brings another dire headline or viral video of devastation.
The power of talking about it
The most important step we can take is simple: Talk about climate anxiety openly. Parents, teachers, and clinicians should not dismiss kids’ fears as naive. These worries are rational responses to a changing world. Naming them, validating them, and creating safe spaces to discuss them can transform dread into determination.
Neuroscience backs this up. As Adam Met writes in Amplify, when people gather in groups, our brains literally sync up: We become more open to new ideas, more capable of empathy, and crucially, more willing to act. Sociologists call this collective effervescence. It’s the spark that turns isolation into solidarity and anxiety into action.
There are also practical ways families can help young people channel their worry productively. Parents can direct their children’s energy toward advocacy groups and research organizations that they can support together. They can learn concrete steps to minimize their household’s environmental impact, encourage lifestyle changes like reducing energy use, and spend time in nature, planting trees or flowers to restore both agency and connection.
No, talking about climate change won’t suddenly stop the floods in Manville or the smoke drifting into Newark. Critics might argue that naming the problem risks frightening kids further. But avoidance feeds anxiety. Honest conversation, grounded in both reality and hope, helps young people feel less alone.
Where we go from here
If we want the next generation to face the climate crisis with resilience rather than despair, we need to weave mental health into the fabric of our response. Schools should equip teachers to talk about climate stress. Pediatricians should screen for climate-related worries the way they already screen for bullying or depression. Parents should listen without judgment when their children voice fears about the future.
Here, New Jersey is leading the nation. It is the only state with mandatory K-12 climate education, thanks to First Lady Tammy Murphy’s initiative. Normalizing climate discussions in classrooms helps kids feel empowered rather than paralyzed by the challenges they inherit. Most importantly, we must frame climate action as a shared responsibility. No child should feel like the weight of the world rests solely on their shoulders. By fostering open conversations and collective responses, we can turn climate anxiety from a source of paralysis into a catalyst for connection and change.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in medicine, and in life, it’s that healing begins when we acknowledge what hurts, and learn to weather the storm together.
Lucas Garfinkel is a student at Cooper Medical School of Rowan University. He is considering pursuing psychiatry and has a special interest in the intersection of climate change and mental health.