How "The Coddling" Movie Helped Me

A Gen Zer's story

Dear Coddling Movie Community,

The filmmaking team and I have always prioritized reaching Gen Zers and their parents. After all, they are the ones most directly affected by the Gen Z mental health crisis.

That’s why it’s especially gratifying to publish today’s piece by a Gen Zer named

Margo Margan

. I can’t tell you how it warms our hearts to hear Margo’s story.

We’ll soon be expanding our release efforts to reach more Gen Zers, parents, and others.

We’re preparing for another round of campus screenings (our global tour has hit more than 50 locations so far).

We’ll also be releasing the movie on some of the most popular streaming platforms. 

We have seen so many viewers embrace The Coddling movie, but we’ve also run into others who hate the film’s message. 

We can’t say they hate the film because usually their goal seems to be avoiding the film and getting others to do the same. Such people probably won’t judge the film on its merits. They might engage in “review bombing” and other strategies designed to suppress the film. 

From time to time, I’ll ask you to help us resist such intolerance so that the movie can reach more people like Margo. 

So if you enjoyed The Coddling movie, please consider taking a moment to rate it on IMDB, where it currently enjoys a 9 out of 10 rating. 

It’s a quick way to help the movie begin its wider release on the right foot.

And I hope you enjoy Margo’s essay. 

As you’ll see, she’s so thoughtful and wise, it’s hard to believe she’s so young. 

I hope today’s essay will be the first of many from Margo. Gen Zers and the rest of us need to hear more from brave people like her. 

Fear is contagious, but so is courage. 

All the best,

Ted

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When I first watched The Coddling of The American Mind, I immediately thought, “I’m not crazy!” 

The scenarios the film described perfectly echoed my high school experience. They are real, important, and necessary stories. I want to vouch for this by sharing how the film has helped me.

I struggled with the same cultural dogma as the film’s subjects. I went to a progressive education high school, the type some would call “woke.” 

The school was nice at first—a socially progressive, but ultimately friendly, environment. It opened my eyes to understanding that those different from me were, well, just normal people, and showed me how legitimate injustices currently affected us. 

But as the years went on, things became extreme. Our curriculum was all about making us “critically engaged citizens,” or turning us into activists. One of our assignments was to “read a book by an author of color”—that’s it. When learning about political parties, conservative views were framed as “Christian views,” and bad ones, at that. 

Because I had been legitimately wrong before, it was easy to influence me to buy into everything out of guilt.

These dynamics did not just affect my high school. This is a widespread cultural issue among my generation. I interned at a different school for a gap year, where the staff held a mix of political ideologies. Nonetheless, I encountered many of the same familiar progressive idealists among staff and, more so, among students.

I was pulled aside after class by a teacher asking if my quietness was due to being the only woman in the room. Students pushed for a feminist lecture to be held after a boy made a mildly rude joke using a “sexist” term. 

Gone were legitimate accusations of injustice and teachings on how we shouldn’t see minorities as abnormal. In came a group of entirely white students insisting “nothing has changed” with racism, and a Gay-Straight Alliance routinely insisting the LGBTQ+ brain was more likely to be neurodiverse. Oh, and how flannel was a protected symbol of “queer culture,” and straight people couldn’t wear it. 

Throughout all of this, I felt like it was impossible to question. I felt my past mistakes were unforgivable. I felt “broken,” thinking I, as a woman who did not feel oppressed, was somehow messed up inside. 

I experienced severe distress. I thought saying something “offensive” would cause the world to end. I would spend hours researching what could be considered offensive so I wouldn’t mess up. I ended up restricting the media I enjoyed, the music I listened to, the books I read, all to avoid making contact with something “problematic.” 

Many thought there was something wrong with me—that this was my own inherent mental illness. Few saw just how extreme the culture had gotten. 

I had already removed myself from this extremist culture when I watched The Coddling. Yet, I still felt its grip. I would still kick myself for not having enough black characters in my stories, still feel a sense of danger when I contacted any less-than-far-left organization, and still to this day wear flannel to rebelliously commit “cultural appropriation.” 

I believed I was a rarity among my generation. Most people my age were very liberal. I assumed what happened to me was just bad luck, not a legitimate issue to speak up about.

The Coddling of The American Mind changed that.

Watching the Movie

I watched the film with my mother. I initially told her I didn’t want to pause for discussions. I found myself breaking this rule several times.

In particular, I was struck by the clip where Lucy described how the words “person with autism” were deeply offensive to some in the autistic community. I had witnessed the exact same thing. Never before had I seen an example so specific describing what I had gone through. It still feels unreal. 

I immediately knew I was not alone. I had mixed feelings about this. I was so shocked to find out my experience was real, a part of me felt like I had manifested suffering onto others so I could feel less lonely. 

The Coddling helped me explain my prior distress to adults in my life. Because I was “privileged,” at the time, I felt I didn’t have the right to say I had been hurt by others. Adults at the time didn't understand what was going on, since these stories were so unheard of. I wasn’t saying anything, and they would have never thought to look. 

After my mother finished watching the film, she told me, “No wonder you were so crazy back then. Look at what was happening to you!” 

She and many others believed I had an inherent problem distinguishing between minor mistakes and severe offenses. With the film’s illustration of social justice extremes, I could finally communicate how the fear had come from my lack of trust that society understood these distinctions.

My mother continually tells me now that I am a strong person. This has been great to hear. I have long felt like I didn’t have any right to be upset. I had seen so many claims of “trauma” or “abuse” in response to minor situations, so I didn’t want to do so when I was the one with the unhealthy sensitivity. 

Watching the film helped me understand where my distress came from. Specifically, many of the physical symptoms Kimi described were just like what I had felt. 

I no longer suffer from these symptoms. As I understand it, mental disorders like OCD or anxiety do not magically disappear overnight, as they seemed to for me once I chose to be true to myself.

Therapy did not help me. Doctors only gave me one-size-fits-all coping strategies and didn’t look at environmental factors, which were the real core of my struggles. This was exacerbated by the fact that I didn’t need a doctor, but a friend. 

If I could go back and show my therapists and parents The Coddling, I’m sure it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble. I hope it will save someone else from having to be put through mental health treatments they don’t need.

Finally understanding where this came from gave me peace. This wasn’t an unreasonable reaction. I do not have an inherent mental disorder. My environment was unhealthy. 

This would have been a genuinely, legitimately painful experience for anyone.

And knowing this, I also knew I wasn’t insane for being angry.

I had previously tried to find community in spaces for open debates, but I started to feel exhausted. While these are excellent resources, they weren’t what I needed. I felt like I had to push myself to be a perfect centrist. It seemed wrong to want to meet people similar to me. It seemed immoral to need to vent and get some understanding of what I was frustrated about. I felt like any shred of bias or opinion was selfish.

But maybe it’s not selfish to want to help someone else through this. 

Maybe it’s not about tearing enemies down but lifting up friends.

Maybe I need to.

Reaching Gen Z

I want to reach Gen Z, give those who have been through something like me a space to let out their anger, pain, and fear, and then help them find their way back to living ordinary lives. My goal is not to “stop those woke extremists,” but to help struggling people find a home. 

Sinking into anger will only lead us to fall into the same traps as social justice extremism does, or even to tear legitimate social justice movements down. 

But bottling it up isn’t any healthier. We all have times when we need someone who gets us. Seeking that doesn't mean we will become trapped in echo chambers or trauma-centered identities. 

Much like being an “oppressed woman” isn’t my identity, it also won’t be “victim of wokeness.” I moved on to finding a job as a content editor, publishing a board game on the side, and becoming a member of a church community. Mundane, but also, supremely human. It’s brought me much more joy and peace than activism ever could. Constantly musing about problems only brought me down. I don’t need the world to be perfect for me to find happiness.

To reach Gen Z, we need to first pull them out of their bubbles. This is why a film like The Coddling is so important. There are a variety of reasons why I believe the film has what it takes to crack the mindset that normally leads young people to dismiss anything deemed “right-wing.”

The first reason will sound extremely reductive, but it is unfortunately essential to the thinking of those trapped in this ideology. In their mindset, only “oppressed minorities” have a right to speak on certain issues. They will likely dismiss anything coming from someone without the right identity, and actively seek out sources from the “correct” voices. 

Knowing women, students of color, and neurodivergent people object to the narratives coming from the extreme side will be the first thread to pull on to unravel the grip of this extremism. Social justice thinkers will have a higher chance of seeing these sources as legitimate. Viewing something like this can fire off thoughts like, “Oh, this is what X group is saying, this must be what’s right for them.” 

I’m by no means arguing this line of thinking is healthy. It is, however, oftentimes the necessary first step in helping someone feel safe enough to just consider dissenting content. Good sources should slowly but surely pull the rest of the threads apart the more a person consumes them.

Students also need to hear other students speak up. Otherwise, it comes across as those on the outside making guesses. Adults might point out the worst examples of DEI programs, but students might see the good in the programs they are at currently, or not have as severe of an experience. This leads to the adults’ claims feeling far-fetched.

Hearing it from those within helps legitimize that issues with social justice extremism are truly happening. Bad DEI programs are real, even if not every program ends up that way. There are students who are unhappy with the support being offered. There are students who feel these things don’t help them. There are consequences for these efforts. 

Gen Z’ers need to hear someone on the inside say, “It doesn’t work.” 

Lastly, if we can match the specific details of their experiences as the film did with mine, we can connect with Gen Z more deeply. For instance, it might seem strange to bring up the flannel thing again, but that was a big deal. We regularly derailed classes to discuss LGBT+ issues and how “queer culture” symbols were being “straight washed.” 

Perhaps someone out there is reading this right now, and thinking, “Yes! I remember! My friends did the same thing! Telling me I had to or shouldn’t wear flannel based on my sexuality!”

And maybe, knowing both of us share that, we will find we aren’t crazy.

Maybe, we will find we aren’t alone.

Maybe, instead of tearing down our enemies, we will find happiness in making a friend.

And one day, maybe, there will be enough of us out there breaking from the mold that we will no longer need to reach out like article-writing pen-pals, across states, seas, and screens, to find the people who need us. Those moments of connection will start unraveling the grip of the Three Great Untruths, as we feel these newfound great truths come to light.

It starts with a film like The Coddling of The American Mind.