The Vibe Check We Missed: When “Mind Your Business” Backfires

As an adolescent development and trauma researcher teaching college students for a while now, I am mindful of that invisible leap young people make from high school to college. Because it’s not just about classes, roommates, or surviving on cups of noodles. It’s emotional and existential, even. I thought about this recently when I came across a social media post from a young man I once knew through a community sports program my daughters were part of. After leaving his low-income neighborhood to attend college, he shared that he had attempted suicide twice. The post was hopeful — he described himself as “saved” and finally on the other side. But it took my breath away — not because it was surprising, but because it’s not. It’s becoming heartbreakingly familiar.

Years of being a witness in that space, I have come to understand that the freedom of college doesn’t just open doors — it opens wounds, too.

Many young people don't realize until college that they’ve been carrying unspoken, unprocessed pain. The shift to college removes them from their familiar environment, routines, and support systems — and suddenly, what once felt "normal" starts to feel heavy. Without the daily distractions of home, buried traumas rise to the surface, often for the first time.

And it's not just college students. Yesterday I also learned of a childhood friend - a trans male who had never gone to college but had been tested by the traumas of his childhood years. I don't know how he died but my heavy suspicion is that he eventually could not outrun the demons that had been chasing him since his late adolescent/early adult years. So, while not entirely new to this generation, these kinds of things have made me want to reevaluate the real implications behind “mind your business” — the unofficial motto of Gen Z and younger Millennials. And how, specifically, that mentality is likely making things worse.

Students these days are expected to suddenly know how to build community, self-advocate, trust strangers, and hold conversations that aren't just side-eyes and memes — all while still shaking off years of being told to mind your business and stay in your lane.

Listen, I get it: "Mind your business" didn’t come from nowhere.

It came from being watched too closely. From Karens calling the cops when Black kids sell water on the sidewalk. From adults who think concern equals control. From environments that punish instead of protect. From being surveilled — even in spaces meant to support you.

So yes, I understand the clapback: “Mind your business” is a way of saying, “Focus on yourself, not on me,” or more deeply, “I’m not yours to fix, rescue, or report.” And honestly? That makes complete sense. It’s a boundary. A hard stop. A firm, sometimes more polite version of “mess around and find out.”

So what’s my concern?

Well, beyond the societal implications of folks…deciding it might be cool to ignore the choking stranger or record the man who fell onto the train tracks instead of reaching out to help, or…

…walking past the girl crying in the stairwell because “it’s not my problem,” …not reporting the kid who hasn’t been showing up to class because “I barely know him,” …seeing someone spiral online and calling it “attention-seeking” instead of a cry for help, …assuming the quiet student is just shy — instead of maybe isolated, overwhelmed, or hungry, …treating someone’s breakdown like content instead of a moment that demands compassion .…skipping elections that have consequential and democracy-altering consequences

…Well, beyond all that…my concern for is for that young man I mentioned above, and the millions of young people like him. When “mind your business” turns into nobody’s business, we all lose something human. More than a slogan, for some, “mind your business” becomes a lonely way of life that can make it hard to reach out, to trust, to belong — because connection requires letting people in.

And that gets complicated when you've learned your safety depends on staying out of sight.

Now add to that the reality that educators — the very adults who once built trust and created space for students like this (not just in college, like me, but in classrooms from Kindergarten through high school across the country) — are increasingly being told to stay in their lane, too.

“Just teach the material.” “Don’t get involved.” “No, you can’t check in with them after hours.” “Stick to the standard.”

It feels like we’re all just out here minding our damn business these days. And who pays the price? All of us — but especially our young people. And especially especially the ones who are Black, Brown, immigrant, LGBTQ+, misgendered, disabled, low-income, formerly incarcerated, undocumented, neurodivergent, or navigating mental health challenges — because they don’t get to live “standard” lives.

And historically, the teachers I have worked with and trained for years have never just been subject experts — they’ve been protectors. Advocates. Sometimes the only adult who saw the whole child.

So what happens when students are scared to be seen…and teachers aren’t allowed to look?

No, seriously — what happens to a society when the people who most need to be held are met with silence? When trust becomes taboo, and care feels like crossing a line? When everybody’s minding their business… and nobody’s minding the kids?

What happens to a kid like the one I mentioned above? A kid who made it to college, finally had space to breathe, and then nearly didn’t survive it? What happens when the pain our young folks have been carrying quietly for years finally rises to the surface — and there’s no one around who’s allowed (or willing) to notice?

That’s the vibe check we need. Let’s talk about it. Because silence isn’t safety. And connection isn’t optional.

My Call to Action:

Have you seen this happen to someone you care about? A student, a friend, a sibling? What helped — or what could’ve helped — if we hadn’t all been “minding our business”?