“I Don’t Know”: On Adolescent Unknowing and the Capacity to Tolerate Uncertainty

Recently, I listened to a lecture by Peter Wilson devoted to a chapter entitled “I Don’t Know” from his book The Adolescence and the Psychotherapist. Why “I Don’t Know” Matters, published in 2026.

This phrase is familiar to anyone who works with adolescents. Almost invariably, it provokes irritation and even despair, as it sounds like a refusal, a closed door, an unwillingness to think, to speak, to engage. And often it is the adult, caught off guard, who finds themselves saying, “I don’t know” what to make of their own child.

Adolescence is not simply a stage of development. It is a rupture, a fault line in which what was once stable has already lost its footing, while what is new has not yet taken shape. The adolescent’s body changes, their perception of their parents, of the world, and of themselves changes. Reality ceases to feel reliable or predictable.

Peter Wilson suggested that “…at the heart of all this there remain fears of the sheer physical force of these changes, fears of losing control over new internal pressures, and a terror of continuing to grow without limit, turning into some kind of monster or freak.

There is, of course, excitement, a sense of strength, even euphoria, but the uncertainty persists, and its darker underside continues to torment. Many of these discoveries cannot be shared with others.”

And so “I don’t know” emerges, spoken with irritation or with an empty gaze. In clinical work, this is particularly evident. An adolescent may speak about events, joke, appear engaged, yet as soon as the conversation turns to feelings, it breaks off:
— What do you feel?
— I don’t know.

Wilson proposes that “I don’t know” be understood not as a refusal to know, but as a process in which understanding is only beginning to take shape. It rarely signifies literal ignorance. “Given the sheer volume of what is happening, the adolescent’s ‘I don’t know’ serves an essential purpose — to acknowledge that it is too much, and to insist on not being rushed.” It may mean:

• “I am confused; there is too much I need to know, so I don’t know.”
• “Perhaps I do know, but I am afraid to say what I know, so I don’t know.”
• “I am not supposed to know, so I don’t know.”
• “If you knew what I know, you would not want to know it, so I don’t know.”
• “I know what I feel, but it is mine, and you do not need to know it, so I don’t know.”

As one adolescent put it succinctly: “If I were to share some of my thoughts with someone else, it would feel like losing something personal… as if my thoughts were no longer mine.”

The adolescent question “Who am I?” does not lend itself to quick answers. It cannot be resolved through explanation; it must be lived through. Winnicott introduced the image of “the doldrums” to describe the state of adolescence. He wrote:

“…there are several years during which the individual has no alternative but to wait, and to do so without knowing what is happening. In this phase, the child does not know whether they are homosexual, heterosexual, or narcissistic. They do not yet have an established identity, nor a definite life direction that would shape the future and give meaning to examinations. Nor do they yet have the capacity to identify with parental figures without a loss of personal identity.”

Herein lies the central conflict. The therapist seeks to understand the young patient: to connect, interpret, and clarify. Yet the adolescent’s “I don’t know” demands the opposite: not to hurry, not to fill in, not to know prematurely. Wilson, following Kits and Bion, reflects on “negative capability” — the capacity to tolerate uncertainty, doubt, and incompleteness.

Ferro might add that what matters is not so much explaining as remaining within the unfolding emotional field, allowing it to organise itself gradually. This is one of the most difficult tasks — to remain present without rushing towards understanding.

The paradox is that it is precisely within the space of not knowing that knowledge begins to emerge. In a clinical example described by Wilson, an adolescent remained in a state of “I don’t know” for a long time, until one day he said, “But my father left.” This knowledge did not arise through interpretation or insight, but as something that had been allowed to take form.

Interestingly, “I don’t know” often coexists with its opposite “I know everything.” The adolescent may appear confident, categorical, all-knowing, yet this is often merely another defence against the same uncertainty.

Wilson, continuing the line of thought of Winnicott and Adam Phillips, suggests that not knowing may present itself as boredom, as a dead end, as if “nothing is happening,” while internally the adolescent is engaged in continuous work. Phillips, in turn, described boredom as a state of suspended anticipation, in which the psyche prepares for what is yet to come.

Ultimately, the capacity not to know is not a weakness. It may indeed be a sign of maturity, insofar as it allows one to tolerate complexity. It is as though, alongside the right not to know, there emerges the possibility not to rush, not to fill the void with false answers, and to allow sufficient time for experience to acquire meaning.

Yet, unfortunately, adults themselves often struggle to tolerate uncertainty. And so, perhaps the most important task in raising adolescents (and not in this task) is for the adult to learn to tolerate their own not knowing.

Bibliography:
Wilson P. (2026) The Adolescence and The Psychotherapist. Why ‘I Don’t Know’ Matters. Routledge.