Teen girls are turning to chatbots, not for homework help, but for the questions they’re too afraid to ask anyone else. Not their parents. Not their teachers. Sometimes not even their closest friends. Instead, they whisper their fears into an empty chat box late at night, hoping the words land softly somewhere.

These aren’t silly or shallow questions. They’re small windows into a generation growing up online, trying to feel safe in a world that often isn’t. And the questions they ask are heartbreaking, not because they show weakness, but because they reveal how deeply girls crave understanding, connection, and safety.

Some ask about their bodies, trying to reconcile what they see in the mirror with the impossible standards they scroll past every day: “Would people like me more if I were skinnier?” “How do I stop hating my face?” “Can I still be pretty if no one has ever said I am?”

Others are carrying heavier weights. Questions about mental health appear again and again, typed hesitantly, erased, and rewritten: “What’s the point of anything?” “How do I disappear without hurting anyone?” “Why does everyone like me at school, but no one really knows me?”

Then there are the questions they cannot bring themselves to say out loud about consent, coercion, and shame: “If I didn’t say no, was it still wrong?” “He was older. Is it my fault?” “I let him because I was scared. Am I bad?”

Many don’t have the words for what happened to them. They aren’t even sure it counts. So they turn to a machine, hoping for clarity, or forgiveness, or both.

There are also questions about love and rejection, the universal ache of wanting to be chosen: “Why doesn’t he like me back?” “Is it clingy to want someone to miss me?” “How do I stop checking if he’s online?”

And finally, there are the questions about growing up: the fear, confusion, and uncertainty of living in a body that feels unfamiliar. “Why does my period hurt so much?” “Does birth control make you gain weight?” “Will I get PCOS like my mom?” “What if I can’t ever have kids?”

These aren’t just questions. They’re confessions. Typed at 2 a.m. Erased. Rewritten. Typed again. So many end the same way: “Sorry if this is a dumb question.” “Please don’t judge me.”

What broke my heart wasn’t just what they asked. It was what wasn’t said: the fear, the silence, the weight of growing up with too much information and not enough support.

And what really broke my heart is that so many of the questions girls ask late at night are the same ones women in their thirties still ask and carry in silence at night.

Callia Georgoulis is a health writer.