What Teenagers (And Lola) Taught Me About Integrity

Written on a rainy Thursday, curled up in front of the fire with a box of antibiotics and Lemsip on one side and a snoring cocker spaniel warming my feet on the other.

If you’re imagining a very glamorous, wellness influencer style moment…please don’t. This is more “slightly soggy woman with a chest infection trying to write a blog between coughing fits.

But maybe this is the perfect setting to think about integrity…the unglamorous, show-up-even-when-you-feel-like-mush kind of integrity that teenagers and young people can spot a mile off.

Some of the teens I work with start off looking completely uninterested, you know the side eyes, the long dramatic sighs, the “I’m only here because school told me to” energy. And that’s fine. We don’t take it personally.

Every week, we check: “Do you want to come with me and Lola?”
And every week, they say yes.

So me and Lola show up. Honest. True. Warts and all. Not perfect, not polished, just our actual, authentic selves.

And every single time, eventually, those teenage walls start to crack. They suss us out. They push a bit, because, let’s be honest, many adults do give up on them. Many adults leave at the first sign of “difficult.”

But we didn’t leave.
We came back every week anyway…sometimes twice a week.

Lola still greeted them with the same unshakeable, tail wagging loyalty and love she gives to everyone. The teens come for Lola, she’s the reason they’re there, the safe presence that makes everything else possible. The anchor that gives them enough stability to believe in the possible.

And that’s when it happens; we find ourselves chatting as though we’ve known each other for years. Sharing worries, frustrations, tiny victories, and big feelings about the future. Lola sprawled out on the floor between us, legs often sticking straight up in the air while she demands a belly rub or ear scratch.

Because even the young people who seem the most unmotivated, disengaged, or “not bothered” have hopes, dreams, and aspirations. They’re just often too scared to show them until they feel safe.

It’s a vulnerable place to be, if you think about it.

And trust me, teenagers, pre teens, and children can smell fake from three corridors away.
You can walk in with your best “professional face,” your neatly rehearsed script, and your laminated worksheets…and they’ll clock in 0.4 seconds whether you’re genuine or not.

That’s why integrity matters more with young people than almost anyone else.
Or anyone who has experienced trauma, really.

You can’t talk your way into trust with them.
You can only show it.

Even when they roll their eyes.
Even when they pretend they don’t care.
Even when they try to push you away to test if you’ll disappear like the last ten adults who promised they wouldn’t.

Consistency is the intervention.
Turning up is the safety.

The boring, ordinary, unglamorous bits. The “I’m here again because I said I would be” moments, the showing them you genuinely want to spend your time with them, beside them, hearing them…that’s where the magic actually happens.

And that’s what integrity looks like in real life.
Not the shiny (or even fluffed!) interview answer version.
The lived version.

It’s not spectacular.
It’s not perfect.
It’s definitely not Instagram worthy.

But it’s honest.
And human.
And dependable.

…actually quite easy to achieve really!

But to a person who’s been let down, that is everything.

Lola, of course, already knows this. She doesn’t overthink anything. She just turns up as the same dog every single week, consistent, forgiving, tail wagging, allergic to ulterior motives. She is basically integrity with floppy ears.

Some adults could take notes.

In the end, trust isn’t built in grand gestures or perfect words, it’s built in those small, ordinary moments of showing up. And that’s what changes everything for a young person who’s still deciding whether the world is safe enough to let you in.

Lola knew it first. I’m just catching up.