For years, I have been a student at the high school with an Individualized Education Program (IEP). These services are designed to help students like me bridge the gap between ourselves and the “General Education” student body. I have spent hundreds of hours in pragmatic speech and social skills groups learning how to read body language, initiate conversations and navigate the “hidden rules” of friendships. However, as I prepare to exit these services, I have come to a frustrating conclusion: The bridge is only being built from one side. While students with IEPs are coached on how to be better social partners, the general student body is increasingly losing the basic mechanics of connection. Students need the same curriculum or, at a minimum, a basic set of social skills training. If the general population hasn’t been taught how to engage, initiate or follow through, no amount of specialized training for neurodivergent students will bridge the gap. A half-built bridge can’t sustain a friendship; it will only make it fall apart faster.
The current social climate at the high school is defined by digital submersion rather than real-world connection. Walk through the cafeteria, and you will see groups of students sitting together physically but mentally separated by their screens. In the hallways, people walk slowly to focus on their devices or stand next to friends in total silence, staring at a phone for the precious five minutes of transition time. They become unable to notice when others ask them to move, simply spacing out in the middle of the hallway.
Making plans, the actual engine of friendship, has become a lost art. I often find myself acting as the primary initiator of my social life. However, this is getting increasingly hard as well. Nobody checks back in with me, and I’m forced to give up on making a plan. Making a plan isn’t just sending a text; it requires multiple steps that many of my peers seem unable to navigate. You need to communicate with the other people you are hanging out with to find their availability, a place and time, and then you need to actually commit to it. Cancelling something last minute because you didn’t check if you were available from the start shouldn’t be a common occurrence. These steps aren’t being taught, and many students default to “hanging out” digitally or simply waiting for someone else to take the lead. This creates a cycle of passivity and isolation.
Furthermore, because we were never taught explicit instruction on digital communication, text messages become a minefield where tone is misread and response times are over-analyzed, leading to unnecessary drama, confusion and even depression. For example, a read-receipt is often read as a cue that a friend doesn’t care, rather than a sign that they are busy. When I respond later, I want it to be seen as me making an effort to follow up with them, and not as a betrayal of friendship. Even in the last steps of texting, it’s unclear when the conversation has ended. No plans to connect with others are reached, and I only get a simple “I don’t care what the plan is” or “maybe I can come” with no real confirmation. It might seem hard to schedule all of this, but it’s simpler than it seems.
The Brookline Middle School health curriculum currently focuses on healthy relationships, but there are missing links in this foundation. We teach middle schoolers about consent and conflict resolution in romantic relationships, but we don’t teach them the logistics of initiation and plan-making with friends. Middle school is exactly when most students receive their first smartphones and the very moment they begin to trade real-world planning for digital passivity.
If we want healthy relationships, we must teach students how to actually be together. Goal-setting should include the goal of organizing a weekend outing. Communication skills should include how to speak on the phone to coordinate a ride or make a reservation. Without these concrete skills, “healthy relationships” remain a theoretical concept that students never learn to put into practice.
This foundation should continue to be built throughout High school. The Brookline High School Wellness Program states it is designed to teach students “content and skills, allowing them to be healthy and active throughout life.” While the curriculum focuses on mindfulness and stress management, it misses the most basic ingredient of mental health: the ability to form a functional, real-world friendship.
We need to rethink the Wellness and Health curriculum to include social skills and “plan-making” for all students. This shouldn’t be a “special” service for students with IEPs; it should be a graduation (or life) requirement for everyone. By integrating “Social Logistics” into the General Education Wellness tracks, we take the burden off neurodivergent students to do all the social heavy lifting.
Additionally, we must look at Advisory. Despite what advisors say about T block communities, the time given is used to play SHEEP and learn about a staff member at the high school. Instead, it should be utilized to help manage schoolwork and teach students how to socialize. Kids should take time to learn how to manage school instead of dreading advisory and secretly playing video games.
Our educators and town leaders talk constantly about inclusion, but true inclusion is impossible if the student body doesn’t have the tools to reach out and include someone. What does it say about our values if we prioritize physical literacy but leave students socially illiterate?
The high school Wellness Department and the School Committee have the power to update our curriculum to reflect the reality of the post-pandemic, digital age. Even if this isn’t achieved, I believe that students should be able to socially advance if they put in the effort and time. Contact the Wellness department heads to support a pilot unit on Social Logistics in 9th-grade Lifetime Wellness.
I’d also like to challenge my peers to make one concrete plan this week. Pick a time, pick a place, coordinate the ride and make it happen.
We cannot fall into the trap of thinking that loneliness is an unfixable part of being a teenager. By treating social connection as a skill to be taught rather than a gift you’re born with, we can create a Brookline that is truly accessible for everyone.
