Growing Pains – Coming-of-age And The Quiet Moments In Between

Adolescence is often painted as the golden age of youth, where you are encouraged to be carefree, wild and dreaming of endless possibilities. But it is often the most difficult stage in one’s life.

Director Catherine Argyrople’s ‘Growing Pains’ which she co-wrote with Marian Fabian, captures that delicate tug-of-war between innocence and self-discovery with tender honesty and emotional grace. Its story follows Zoe and Nat, two best friends navigating the uneasy shift from middle school to high school. A transition that quietly reshapes everything they thought they knew about themselves and each other. While the premise feels familiar, the filmmaker infuses it with personal insight and authenticity, drawing from her own experiences to craft something that feels intimate and real.

Zoe (Molly Morneweck) is a cancer survivor still learning to live in her new skin. The scars she bears, which are both visible and invisible, quietly dictate how she sees herself. Hoping for a fresh start, she joins the school’s rowing team, but the experience only deepens her insecurities. She grows self-conscious about her body, distances herself from Nat (Deanna Tarraza), and begins to spiral into a cycle of self-doubt that leads her into an ill-fated relationship. Her story becomes a quiet reflection of how fragile self-worth can be, especially when shaped by others’ perceptions.

Nat on the other hand, is overwhelmed by responsibility. With her grandmother’s illness consuming her family’s focus, she takes on extra shifts at her parents’ sandwich shop, leaving little time for herself and Zoe feels left behind In that space of emotional distance, she finds a connection with Lexie (Maia Isabel Frias), a new co-worker who helps her understand feelings she’s been too afraid to name. Nat’s journey toward self-acceptance unfolds gently, her confusion and curiosity handled with compassion and realism.

The friendship between Zoe and Nat, once effortless, starts to crack under the weight of growing up. Their emotional drift is subtle yet deeply felt, as is common with that stage in life where we often get separated from people we genuinely love. As viewers, we see the distance that painfully grows between the friends, and it is relatable.

The performances are raw and uneven, but there’s something beautifully human in that imperfection. The young cast delivers moments that feel unscripted. As though they’re simply existing within their characters rather than performing them. Deanna Tarraza shines the brightest, carrying much of the film’s emotional weight with quiet strength and sincerity. Even when the dialogue falters, her presence feels grounded and believable.

The pacing is one of the film’s few weaknesses. Some scenes linger longer than they need to, stretching its 96-minute runtime. Still, there’s an undeniable charm to the film’s visual simplicity. The cinematography carries the warmth of a small indie production with soft, natural, and intimate pictures while maintaining the aesthetic appeal of something meant to be experienced in a theatre.

What makes ‘Growing Pains’ resonate most is its heart. It doesn’t glamorise teenage life or turn it into a glossy spectacle. Instead, it leans into the rawness of growing up, which includes the confusion, the loneliness, the yearning to belong. It gives voice to the inner struggles of young girls, whose emotions are often dismissed or misunderstood. By exploring identity, sexuality, and recovery through the eyes of its characters, the film finds a universal truth in its specificity.
For her first feature, Catherine Argyrople shows remarkable sensitivity and promise. She approaches her story with empathy rather than spectacle, understanding that coming-of-age is less about milestones and more about the quiet moments in between.

While Growing Pains may not be perfect, it is honest, heartfelt, and deeply relatable. It reminds us that growing up isn’t just about finding yourself, it’s about learning to hold on to the people who help you see who you are.

Rating: 3.5/5