I definitely was one angsty teen and I definitely went through

When Nicholas Galitzine confessed, “I definitely was one angsty teen and I definitely went through the emo phase,” he was not simply recounting a youthful fashion or taste in music—he was giving voice to the universal storm of adolescence. Beneath the humor of his reflection lies a truth known to all generations: that youth is a time of angst, of turbulent emotions that surge like restless seas, and that the emo phase—with its music, its style, its brooding intensity—was but one cultural expression of this eternal struggle. His words are both personal and archetypal, a reminder that each generation finds its own language for pain, longing, and self-discovery.

The meaning of his words lies in the recognition of angst as a rite of passage. To be an “angsty teen” is to stand on the threshold of adulthood, feeling the weight of the world without yet having the wisdom to bear it. It is to hunger for meaning, to rage at injustice, to feel deeply the isolation of the soul. The emo phase, with its dark eyeliner, mournful lyrics, and dramatic style, offered a sanctuary for many young hearts, a place to express emotions too raw for ordinary speech. For Galitzine, as for countless others, it was a season of intensity that later ripened into self-knowledge.

History too gives us examples of this truth in different guises. The Romantic poets of the 19th century, like Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley, were themselves the “emos” of their age. They wrote of despair, rebellion, and the futility of existence, dressing their melancholy in verse and dramatic lives. Society may have mocked them as overly dramatic, yet their works endure because they spoke to the universal cry of the human heart. What Galitzine humorously calls an emo phase is in fact the timeless struggle of youth to confront sorrow, identity, and the mystery of existence.

Yet his words also carry humility. To admit one’s awkward or brooding youth is to embrace the truth that growth comes not from perfection, but from wrestling with imperfection. The angsty teen often feels ashamed of their intensity later in life, but Galitzine’s laughter redeems it. By naming and owning his past, he shows that the storms of adolescence are not to be hidden but remembered, for they forged resilience and empathy. They are stepping stones toward the calmer wisdom of maturity.

The lesson here is not to despise the emo phase, nor any season of searching, but to recognize its purpose. It is through angst that many discover art, through melancholy that many find expression, through loneliness that many learn compassion. To go through such a phase is not a flaw, but a form of apprenticeship in the school of emotion. Without it, the soul would remain shallow, untested, and unformed. The darkness, endured and survived, teaches the light to be more deeply valued.

O seekers of wisdom, hear this teaching: embrace the intensity of your youth, but do not let it chain you forever. Allow the angst of the past to be transformed into depth, your brooding into empathy, your rebellion into purpose. Like Galitzine, one day you will look back and smile, seeing that even your awkward styles and loud songs were necessary, for they gave voice to the tempest within. Do not despise those who now live through their emo seasons—guide them, encourage them, and remind them that it, too, is part of growing.

Therefore, let Nicholas Galitzine’s words echo within your heart: “I definitely was one angsty teen… I went through the emo phase.” Take them not as a shallow confession, but as a reminder that every human being must pass through shadows before they can fully love the light. Do not fear your own past storms. Instead, honor them as sacred teachers, and carry forward their lessons with gratitude, courage, and joy. For in every emo song, in every tearful night, the soul was being carved into the vessel it was always meant to become.