You know that feeling when you’ve been “studying” since 9 a.m., your back is in pain, your water bottle is empty…AGAIN, your highlighters are fighting for their lives… and yet by 9 p.m. you feel like you’ve achieved absolutely nothing?

Yeah. That.

From the outside, I look productive. I’m at my desk. I’ve got sticky notes. I’ve even made a timetable that looks like it belongs on Pinterest. If productivity had a photoshoot, I’d be shortlisted.

But internally? It’s giving “buffering…” I read one page and immediately think, “What if this exact line comes for 5 marks and I forget it?” I solve five math questions and instead of feeling proud, I fixate on the two I got wrong. I take a 15-minute break and my brain goes, “Wah. Aise aenge marks?” It’s not that I’m not studying. I am. I’m just also overthinking. Constantly.

The other day I studied biology for three hours. THREE. And at the end of it, I genuinely couldn’t tell if I had learned anything or just stared at a wall all day. I felt guilty, frustrated, and slightly betrayed by my own brain.

So I called my friend Rhea.

I didn’t plan to have a serious talk. I just wanted something that wasn’t my thoughts screaming “boards boards boards.” But three minutes in, I blurted out, “Do you ever feel like you study all day and still feel like you’ve done nothing?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Bro. Every day.” And honestly that “bro” healed something in me.

She said she spends half her time imagining the exam hall instead of focusing on the chapter. I admitted that I measure productivity by how long I sit, not by what I understand. If I sit for eight hours, I think I should feel accomplished. So when I don’t, I assume something is wrong…with ME!

At one point she said, “Okay, close your book. Tell me what you remember.” I panicked. “I don’t remember anything.” “Just try.”

And when I forced myself to talk, I actually remembered stuff. Not word-for-word definitions. But concepts. Examples. Connections. Things had gone in. They were just hiding under layers of stress.

That’s when I realised something: I’m not studying peacefully. I’m stress-studying. I keep re-reading because I don’t trust myself. I don’t move ahead because “what if I forget?” I don’t celebrate small progress because it doesn’t look dramatic enough.

We decided to try something basic. Study in shorter bursts. Take actual breaks without feeling like we should be sent to jail for it. And after every session, explain the topic out loud like we’re teaching it to someone else.

The next day, I tried it.

Was I suddenly a topper? No. Did I still get distracted by my phone? Obviously. But at the end of the day, instead of thinking “I did nothing,” I wrote down three things I had actually done.

1. Finished one chemistry chapter.
2. Solved 12 math problems (even if 4 were wrong).
3. Finally understood that one physics concept that SHOULD BE IN JAIL.

Seeing it written down felt different. Not dramatic. Not filmy. Just… real.

I think exam burnout is weird because it doesn’t always look like crying over books. Sometimes it’s just sitting there all day and feeling like an NPC in your own academic storyline. You’re present, but not convinced you’re progressing.

Talking to Rhea didn’t magically fix my life. I still have days where I spiral. I still compare myself to that one friend who claims they’re on their fourth revision (respectfully, I don’t trust them).

But now, when my brain says, “You did nothing today,” I pause.

Did I actually do nothing?

Or did I just not give myself credit?

Sometimes the answer is that I need to focus better. And sometimes the answer is that I’m just tired and scared and putting too much pressure on myself.

Either way, I’m learning this slowly: effort doesn’t always feel epic. Sometimes it feels messy. Sometimes it feels mid. But it still counts.

And if you’re sitting at your desk right now feeling the same way, just know you’re not the only one. We’re all out here trying. Thoda sa overwhelmed, thoda sa dramatic, but still trying.

And honestly? That’s not nothing.

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Last year on Diwali, the loudest thing in my house wasn’t the crackers outside, it was my cousin Rohan screaming because someone cheated in cards. My nani was yelling from the kitchen, “Do NOT enter the house with your slippers on!” My uncle was showing off his “scientific technique” to light rockets safely and then promptly burning his eyebrows.

It was chaos. It was crazy. It was home.

But this year? It’s different.

No cars lining up outside. No cousins fighting for the good mattress. No smell of burnt chaklis or over-fried gulab jamuns. Just… a quiet house with fairy lights trying their best to glow like nothing’s wrong.

My phone wasn’t exploding with “Aaj ka plan kya hai?” messages. Instead, it was full of “Sorry yaar, can’t come this time.”

Rohan shifted to Bangalore for college. My bua’s family has some “issues” going on, so they’re skipping this year. And my little brother, who once danced like a malfunctioning robot to every Diwali song, now had only one plan – a gaming tournament at 8PM. Do Not Disturb.

I tried to distract myself. I helped mom clean, I hung the lantern outside, I even arranged diyas like Instagram aesthetic reels… but midway through, I just stopped. I stood on the balcony yesterday, fairy lights shining around me, and for the first time ever… It didn’t feel like Diwali.

Was it just me? Was I being dramatic? Do festivals stop feeling festive when we grow up? Or was this what everyone secretly felt but never admitted?

The conversation

I didn’t say anything to anyone, but my mom noticed. Moms have that superpower. 

She walked in with a box of diyas and paused. “Tu theek hai na?” 

I tried to fake it. “Yeah yeah, just tired.”

She raised an eyebrow. Moms can sniff lies better than dogs sniff biscuits.

After a moment, I sighed. “It just… doesn’t feel like Diwali. I thought festivals were supposed to be fun. But this time I’m just… not feeling it.”

She didn’t give me a lecture. She didn’t say “Be grateful! At least we’re together!” No emotional blackmail. Instead, she sat beside me and quietly said: “You know, when I was your age, I felt exactly like this.”

That surprised me. Moms feeling like us? Rare content.

She continued, “One year, everyone got busy. No relatives came. The house was clean, food was cooked, lights were on… but my heart felt switched off. For a moment I thought,  maybe Diwali is only fun when you’re small.”

I looked at her. “So what did you do?”

She smiled slightly. “I cried a little. Then I got angry. Then I got up… and decided if the old Diwali wasn’t coming back, I’d make a new one. I invited the neighbours for tea, played music loudly, made laddoos with Papa. Guess what? It was different. But it was still Diwali.”

It wasn’t easy but I decided to take charge of Diwali myself. 

I picked up my phone and texted my cousins:

“9PM. Video call. Ludo or Truth-or-Dare. Don’t be boring.”

Rohan sent five skull emojis and a “Loser will do a Diwali dance challenge.” Accepted.

I barged into my brother’s room and declared, “We’re making a new Diwali playlist. EDM meets Aarti version.” He rolled his eyes but secretly smirked.

Then I sat outside and started making a rangoli, not perfectly, not beautifully. Just honestly.

And you know what?

The silence didn’t go away. But it didn’t feel lonely anymore.

If you’re feeling this too…

Maybe your Diwali looks different this year.
Maybe fewer people. Maybe someone is missing. Maybe you are in a new place, trying to smile when your heart isn’t fully there.

It’s okay.

Festivals don’t stop being special just because they’ve changed. Sometimes… they’re just waiting for us to grow into a new version of them.

So if this Diwali feels different. Light your diyas anyway. Call your people anyway. Laugh even if it’s quieter.

Because Diwali isn’t only about who’s around you.

It’s also about the light you decide to keep inside you.

Happy Yours-Your-Way Diwali.

Sunday drama

It was a bright Sunday morning, and I was enjoying my chai while scrolling through Instagram. The night before, I had posted about accessibility in public spaces, sharing my experience as a wheelchair user and advocating for better infrastructure. I talked about the need for things like ramps, wider doorways, and elevators in public spaces like parks, malls, restaurants or even schools — simple changes that can make a big difference. These seemingly small modifications can significantly improve accessibility for people with disabilities.

As I went through the comments, most were supportive—people sharing their own experiences and agreeing that accessibility needed improvement. But then, my eyes landed on one comment that stood out from the rest:

“Stop playing the victim. No one owes you anything. Maybe you should just stay home if the world isn’t built for you.”

Ouch. I felt a familiar pang in my chest. No matter how many times I encountered such negativity, it still hurt. It wasn’t just about me; it was about the mindset that disabled people should simply accept exclusion rather than push for change. Old me would’ve typed out a paragraph-long clapback. New me? I sipped my chai and flipped the narrative.

Old me vs. new me

Instead of letting it ruin my day, I turned the comment into a caption. Yup, you read that right! I explained why making a case for accessibility isn’t about ‘playing the victim’—it’s about making sure everyone has the same opportunities to move around, have fun, and live their lives without barriers – whether you walk, roll or use support. I shared stories of the barriers disabled people face every day and why speaking up is necessary. The response? Pure love. People shared their own experiences, and we sparked a powerful conversation. Troll: 0, Empowerment: 100.

Flipping the script

That moment hit hard, but it also reminded me of something important: trolls thrive on drama, but I don’t have to give them the spotlight. Over time, I’ve cooked up some tried-and-tested hacks to keep my sanity intact while still speaking my truth. If online hate ever comes your way, here’s how to handle it like a pro:

1. Mute, block, repeat

You don’t owe anyone a response. Protect your peace. Instagram allows you to filter out offensive comments—use this feature to minimize exposure to hate. Blocking or restricting persistent trolls is a simple yet effective way to maintain a positive space.

2. Don’t feed the trolls

Trolls seek attention, and responding with anger often gives them exactly what they want. If you do engage, do so strategically—educate, correct misinformation, or simply state your point and move on. Sometimes, silence is the best answer. Without a reaction, they lose power.

3. Flip the script

Use hateful comments as fuel for important conversations. Address misconceptions and shed light on the real issues. Share how you rise above negativity—it can inspire others facing similar struggles. Your platform is yours; shape the discussion in a way that benefits your community.

4. Lean on Your Support System

Social media can feel overwhelming, but you don’t have to face it alone. Talk to friends, family, or fellow creators when negativity gets to you. Your online community is often your biggest cheerleader. Engage with those who uplift you.

5. Log off and breathe

If social media starts affecting your mental health, step away. Your well-being is more important than any online interaction. Curate your feed—follow accounts that inspire you and mute or unfollow those that drain your energy.

6. Remember your goal

For every troll, there are countless people who find value in your work. Focus on them. Your voice matters. The people who need to hear your message are out there, and they appreciate what you do.

That Sunday morning could have been ruined by a single hateful comment, but I chose to take control of the narrative. Being an influencer and a social advocate for disability rights means standing firm in my truth, no matter how loud the trolls try to be. At the end of the day, I know my purpose—and no amount of online hate can take that away from me.

Do you have anything on your mind? Share with us in the comment box below. Remember not to put any personal information in the comment box.

Till now, I had never taken an exam so seriously. But 10th boards? Oh boy.

Suddenly, Maths started feeling like a supervillain. Many of my friends had joined coaching classes, but I knew there was no magic wand that could make me a Math genius in just a month. My marks were fine, yet this time, the fear was unreal.

Every time I sat down to study, the numbers seemed to spin in my head. Math had always stressed me out, but this time, it felt unbearable.

One day, while struggling with trigonometry, I got so frustrated that I ended up tearing multiple pages from my notebook. In desperation, I called a friend for help, and to my surprise, he solved the problem in just one attempt. That’s when I suddenly recalled a famous dialogue from 3 Idiots—“Dost fail ho jaye toh dukh hota hai, par dost first aa jaye toh zyada dukh hota hai!” and I started overthinking everything again.

Collapsing in class!

As pre-board exams started, my anxiety reached its peak. One day in class, while writing an exam, I suddenly started sweating—in the middle of January! It was freezing outside, but I was drenched in sweat. Before I knew it, I fainted.

When I woke up, mumma was standing there, looking super worried. And like a true bechara beta, I immediately started crying, “Mumma, I can’t do this! I’ll fail Maths!”

Mumma didn’t say much—she just took me home. The next day, I gave my other exams, but I had officially skipped my pre-board Maths exam. (RIP my confidence!)

Mumma steps In!

A few days later, my mumma checked my Math notebooks and noticed something surprising—my calculations were correct, but I just couldn’t solve the entire problem.

She sat beside me and said, “You’re doing well in other subjects, but why does Math make you so anxious? You know you can’t pass 10th without Math, right? It’s not optional yet!”

I sighed and said, “Mumma, I just don’t get trigonometry. If the final exam has too many trigonometry questions, I won’t be able to do them.”

That’s when mumma gave me her golden advice—focus on the topics I found easier. Math is not just trigonometry; there are many other topics too! She suggested that if I wasn’t comfortable going for extra coaching, I could take home tuition instead.

This simple advice reduced my anxiety a little, but what truly helped was when mumma started studying with me and took a few mock tests at home. My scores improved slightly—at least enough to pass! And that’s when my stress finally started to fade.

Mumma’s magical tips!

Now that my board exams have begun, let me share Mumma’s legendary survival hacks with you:

•  Break your studies into chunks – Don’t try to devour the whole syllabus at once. Study in small parts & take chill breaks.
• Revise smartly – Write stuff down, make bullet points, and if needed, study with music (lofi beats are life!). 
• Breathe, bro! – Feeling like your brain is on fire? Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and chill for 5 minutes.
• Sleep or suffer. – Late-night study marathons won’t make you Einstein. Sleep for 7-8 hours or risk forgetting everything. 
• Positive mindset = OP Results – Keep saying, “I got this!” It sounds cheesy, but trust me, it works!

Final thoughts

Bro, these tips saved my life. If you’re also freaking out over exams, don’t panic—just chill, breathe, and study smart.

Do you have anything on your mind? Share with us in the comment box below. Remember not to put any personal information in the comment box.

Send me a selfie but… 

Ronit and I used to chat on WhatsApp, Instagram, Snapchat, and everywhere. Our daily ritual was to exchange cute goodnight selfies before bed. But one day, Ronit’s message shocked me. 

“Love, I need to see you without a top today,” he said. I was totally caught off guard and kept reading the text over and over. My mind was racing, and I couldn’t make sense of what Ronit was asking. Was he really serious? I couldn’t understand why he would ask for something like this out of the blue! 

I tried to convince myself that Ronit must be joking. “Nah! He’s just messing with me,” I muttered to myself. I texted him with a laughing emoji and said, “Come on, I know you’re kidding.” But to my surprise, Ronit quickly responded with, “No, no, I am serious. I want to see you topless, Ananya.”

Shocked and stunned

I was startled and didn’t know how to respond. So, I chose to step away from our chat and logged off. I needed some space to wrap my head around his request and figure out how to handle it. 

As I reflected on his request, I realised that I was not ready for such an intimate step in our relationship. I had only been with Ronit for two months, and I wanted to take things slowly. So, I mustered the courage to reply to him honestly. I explained to him that I wasn’t ready for this yet, and I felt we should wait. 

Ronit sent me a sad emoji. Then he went offline without any goodnight wishes or selfies. 

“No pressure?” 

The next day things felt awkward when I saw him. I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation from the previous night. Ronit, on the other hand, acted as if last night hadn’t happened. He sat next to me not saying anything. So I asked him “What’s up?” He just replied with a hi! 

Curious, I asked him why he didn’t say goodnight, and he explained that he was a little upset because I suggested that we should wait before sharing those kinds of selfies. “It’s like you don’t trust me,” he said. 

I reassured him that I trusted him completely, but it was just something that made me feel uncomfortable. Ronit nodded and said, “No pressure”. 

Are things ok? 

The way our conversation ended last time, I thought things were okay between us. However, I did not receive any message from him at our usual time. I woke up feeling uneasy, wondering why Ronit was ignoring me. He had never done that before. Maybe he was busy or stuck in an unexpected situation. But as time went by and he still hadn’t reached out to me, I started to overthink. 

So, I sent him a sad emoji with a question mark, hoping for some kind of response. But I got nothing. It’s like my message vanished into thin air. 

Did I mess up by not sending those pictures? What if he breaks up with me?

I couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread that was building up inside me. At one point, I actually considered sending him that topless selfie. But it still felt wrong so I decided against it.

No trust in him? 

I left for college early the next day, determined to confront Ronit. I found him in the canteen and asked if we could talk. He nodded.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Why didn’t you reply to my texts? I sent almost 50. Were you out partying?” 

Ronit’s reply caught me off guard, “Yeah, I was at a friend’s place. I didn’t see your messages.”  

As tears welled up, I pressed on, “This hasn’t happened before. Was it because I said no?”

But he totally denied it and surprised me by saying, “No, Ananya, don’t make me out to be the bad guy. If you’re having doubts, maybe it’s best to end things.”

Fake love?

It was so obvious to me why Ronit was acting strange and why he broke up with me. I wasn’t a fool, I could see through it all. I was heartbroken and hurt. When I got home, I cried for hours. 

I couldn’t take it anymore and needed to talk to someone, so I confided in my cousin Shamita. 

After hearing everything, Shamita told me, “Broo, You made the right call not sharing those pics. Just like he went silent after you didn’t send them, maybe he would’ve done the same if you had. At least you stood your ground..”

“Trust me Ananya, it wasn’t true love if he had such a cheap and nasty demand. Someone who likes you would never put you in an uncomfortable situation like this. So, let that fake love go,” she added. 

As Shamita’s words sank in, I pulled her into a tight hug. A sense of comfort settled in me as I felt good about my decision and relieved that I could move on.

Shutterstock/Person in the photo is a model. Names changed

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We are a group of seven friends: Trisha, Simran, Gunjan, Rashit, Deepan, Ankita and I. I am close to all of them for the last year now. We used to hang out with each other every day. But lately, I am not sure if they like my presence.

Something happened

I was scrolling through my social media feed, where Trisha posted a picture of our group, excluding me. Soon I realised that they went out without me to celebrate Ankita’s birthday.

I was flustered with anger, I wanted to yell at them. I couldn’t come up with any explanation for them to have done that to me.

I tried calling them, but no one picked up my calls. I felt anxious. I kept blaming myself. Is it because I am now close to this new girl Kuhika?

Am I not a good friend?

I assumed that it’s my fault because I was different. I did not enjoy what Simran and Deepan or others enjoyed.

So, I thought perhaps I should be more like them — maybe dress up a bit like Simran or pretend how I like their favorite Korean band, so I could blend in and be of more importance to them.

Next day, Kuhika called me to sit with her during the lunch break but I chose to ignore her. Instead, I approached my friends. I decided I would not ask them any questions but try to blend in by behaving more like them.

I talked about their favorite things and wore the same type of bracelet that Simran had. Even after trying to be like them for a few days, I still didn’t see any change. I was still a bystander in my own group.

Rather they kept quiet in my company. It made me upset.

Not afraid to be myself

That night I vented out my feelings to my mother after it became too much for me to handle. I began to sob as she hugged me.

“Sneha, just like you told me about your feelings, tell them how bad they made you feel. Hear them out. Maybe it works out between all of you and you can sort out differences. If it does not, you will have an opportunity to find yourself some friends who don’t treat you like that and like you the way you are. Like Kuhika. She called me yesterday to check on you,” she counseled.

The next day, during lunch time, I decided to confront my friends. I asked them why they had been cold towards me.

Trisha sighed and said, “We know you try hard but you are just not like us at all!” “Try hard? It’s more like she pretends”, Gunjan snapped.

“Yeah we know you don’t like BTS!” she added.

I don’t know who said after that but the words “simple, boring and not adventurous enough” fell upon my ears.

It really hurt to hear all that. My immediate impulse was to retort with things I did not like about them. But I held back.

But I chose to keep quiet. I did not want to be a part of their group now. Instead, I felt relieved that I told them what was on my mind and heard how they felt about me.

I picked up my tiffin box and went and sat next to Kuhika and her friends. She offered me the pasta her mom had made. As I took a bite, I felt as if somebody had taken a huge burden off my head.

Have you ever been in Sneha’s situation? How did you feel? Did you do anything about it? Share with us in the comment box below. Remember, not to put any personal information in the comment box. 

First day of school 

Every person in the room laughed at me, except the teacher.  I was on the verge of tears. I kept looking down wondering why the kids were laughing at me until the teacher told the students to be quiet and told me to sit. It was my first day at my new school. As the norm, everyone had to introduce themselves.  

I still remember how my classmates and other kids teased me after the teacher left; calling me ‘totlu’ or the kid who stammered.  I always went home crying. 

My parents hired a professional speech therapist who specializes in vocal cord issues. Some sessions with him helped me speak a few words which I couldn’t earlier. Honestly, that was a great achievement but I still had problems saying some words correctly in a sequence.

Fear for strangers 

Over the next few years, I became more introverted, insecure, and quiet. My inability to speak fluently also made me scared and extremely nervous to talk to strangers which eventually made me open up less to people. I hardly socialized, which created a barrier between my inability to communicate and my desire to make new friends. 

I was not always like that. As a kid, I was eager, and friendly and used to make friends with all people. But as I grew older I became less and less open to people because of my inability to communicate.  

Appreciating silence

But not everything about it was negative, as it put me in the un-social zone. I started reading books and became a better listener and an observer, but still to this day I am not good at socializing in the first meeting and am not a talkative person. 

But my condition has also helped me to appreciate the silence. I would want to give my best to turn this weakness into one of the greatest strengths I possess.

Shutterstock/Alexander Image/Person in the photo is a model. Names changed.

Do you have anything on your mind? Share with us in the comment box below. Remember not to put any personal information in the comment box.

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Stuck in the pandemic void 

Three years ago, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and my life changed in ways I never expected. It was a time when everything felt uncertain, and my family became my anchor amidst the chaos. The pandemic served as a stark reminder that life is fragile, and nothing is set in stone.

While others were eager to return to their pre-pandemic routines, I found myself trapped in a void of self-doubt and emptiness. Despite the reopening of schools and the rekindling of friendships, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something within me had shifted. I longed for the familiarity of my old life but couldn’t find my place in this new reality.

Struggling to adapt 

Adapting to post-pandemic life was more challenging than I expected. Social anxiety, which had already been a part of my life, intensified during months of isolation. Suddenly, I was thrust into a world filled with people, pretending that everything was back to normal. There was no gradual transition, just an abrupt return to the way things were.

The pandemic taught me invaluable lessons, but it also left me with unresolved emotions. I had to adapt quickly to a world that had changed completely, while people clung to memories of the past. It felt like I was the only one struggling to reconcile these conflicting realities.

Embracing change

I’ve come to realize that I can’t return to who I was before the pandemic. I’ve changed, and my perspective on life has shifted. What once seemed daunting now appears trivial, and things I took for granted are now challenging. But I’ve also discovered the power of sharing my thoughts and challenges with trusted loved ones.

Spending time with family and friends, engaging in meaningful conversations, and stepping out of my comfort zone have been essential for my recovery. I’ve learned that I don’t have to revert to my old self to feel normal again. Instead, I embrace the new opportunities and possibilities in this changed world.

Living for hope

During the pandemic, hope was a common thread that connected us all. We hoped for better days, the safety and health of our loved ones, and a world free from the pandemic’s grip. While life may never return to what it was, hope continues to drive us forward, reminding us that there is strength in resilience and the promise of a brighter future.

Names have been changed. This article has been authored by a member of our TeenBook Advisory Board (TAB). To learn more about what TAB is and how to join, please click here. 

Kick-off

Most of us started playing football last year, in the 8th standard. Some of the girls were new to the sport, just like me, while others were a bit more experienced. Our team practices are scheduled twice a week. We are now in grade 9 and can’t help but exclaim, ‘kya mazza hai!’ We’re improving together but still have a long way to go.

We regularly meet up for practice and enjoy playing the game. Our school team has played a few tournament matches, and I recently joined a football club. It’s honestly such a fun game, and we have loads more to learn!

But lately, our practices are less frequent, and we are becoming less excited to play. 

Motivating or demotivating?

Our school also has a boys’ football team, and we watch their matches to improve our skills. Most of the boys at my school love football and have been playing for years. However, there is quite an apparent difference in the skill level of the boys’ team and girls’ team.

While we sometimes struggle to dribble, pass, and shoot, the boys have mastered some of these and many more techniques.

Although aspiring to be as skilled as them is definitely a motivator, it is also really demotivating. 

“What if we’ll never be as good as them?”

“We probably don’t even have half the skills they do!”

“I think we’ll never improve”

These are only some of the worrying thoughts that run through our heads.

Challenges beyond football

We are often treated differently than the boys. At school, we were not allowed to wear shorts to morning and day practice, but the boys were. After parents spoke to the school about the issue, we were granted permission to wear shorts to morning practices, but only if we changed in another building. The boys can come to class in shorts and change a little later than us, in the main building.

Often, the girls’ team practices are cancelled as there is not enough room for both the boys and girls to practice on the ground. Understandably, the boys’ team is much more experienced than us, but is it fair that the school gives them more privileges?

Many girls are also discouraged from playing sports. Families and teachers advise us to focus on our academics as we are nearing our 10th board. This wasn’t the only discrimination we faced, though. 

Bridging the gap

The boys are experienced, hardworking, motivated, and, most importantly, focused. We get it. We look up to them in football and respect them, so why can’t they respect us beginners?

It hurts when we are laughed at and made fun of for not playing well. Do we deserve it?

All this negative energy is causing many of our teammates to lose interest in football and other sports. Is there any way to go back to the time when we had a profound love for the sport?

What next?

Honestly, I think we’re still learning. In addition to being late starters, males and females have stark physical differences. Many with heavy/painful periods choose to miss a practice instead of suffering, and that’s totally understandable!

The best thing everyone can try is to respect one another’s strengths and weaknesses. You never know what anyone is going through. Encouraging each other and treating everyone with kindness is the best solution to breaking stereotypes.

Playing sports is not just about scoring goals or winning races, it’s about improving yourself, making friends, and having fun!

Names have been changed. This article has been authored by a member of our TeenBook Advisory Board (TAB). Please click here to learn more about what TAB is and how to join. 

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Taking too much space?

My journey with body image and societal judgments began when I was just five. A friend flat-out refused to let me ride her bike, insisting I was too heavy and might break it. That hurtful moment left a mark, echoing through my teenage years.

Now, every time I hop on a means of public transport, I can’t help but notice the judgmental glares. It’s like I’m not just taking up a seat; I’m taking up too much space in their world. The teasing, the mocking, the bullying—it’s a daily reality. 

At this age when I have a crush on someone, I can’t even share this feeling with anyone because I know they will make fun of me. Going shopping doesn’t seem fun anymore because I don’t get clothes for myself. 

The playground, which is supposed to be a place for fun, sometimes made me feel really lonely and left out. People used to make fun of me when I ran or did anything active.

When it all gets too much, my safe space is talking to my mom. She, too, was a chubby kid, so she understands my struggles. Her advice is to just ignore them. Simple, right? But the truth is, it’s not always easy to turn a blind eye to the judgment.

Whose fault is it? 

I want to make one thing crystal clear: it’s not a blame game. I don’t blame my parents, and I certainly don’t blame myself. I didn’t choose to have an obsession with junk and sugary foods. And my parents? They’ve been my pillars of support, standing by me through thick and thin. It’s not just my battle; it’s theirs too. 

They’ve weathered the storm of unsolicited advice from well-meaning parents who suggested, “Isko gym join karwa do” or “Keto diet is the best”. 

But guess what? I’ve tried the whole weight loss thing. Sure, it’s a work in progress, but what’s become more crucial to me is feeling comfortable in my own skin. I don’t rely on others to make me feel good about myself. My parents have always emphasized that real confidence comes from within.

Yes, there have been moments when the nasty comments have stung. People have called me “fatso”, “Golu”, “Motu” “Buffalo” and much more! But I’m learning that my self-worth isn’t tied to how others see me. My journey is about being at peace with who I am and embracing myself despite what society thinks.

Make it your superpower

Today’s got me thinking about growing up and how some things from the past never really fade away. You see, I used to be an overweight child, and those memories, those internal scars, they’re still a part of who I am. But here’s the thing – they don’t define me.

I’ve come a long way, and I’ve learned to be comfortable in my own body, in my own skin. It’s a journey, let me tell you. Especially when you’re a teenager and it feels like everyone’s got an opinion about you. It’s like being in a courtroom where you never asked for a trial. 

But you know what I’ve realized? Being comfy in your own skin is like having a superpower. In a world where it feels like everyone’s an expert on how we should look, being at peace with yourself is like a rebellion.

I’ve figured out that my journey to loving myself doesn’t need a thumbs-up from people who only see the surface. As a teenager in this world full of pressures and these crazy beauty standards that make you feel like you’re never enough, I’ve decided to rebel in my own way. I’m not playing by their rules. I’m all about self-love, resilience, and defining beauty on my own terms.

To all you awesome teens out there dealing with the same stuff, just keep being you. Your journey is completely unique, and guess what? You don’t need anyone’s permission to love yourself. Your value isn’t just skin-deep. Embrace it, own it, and remember, you’ve got company on this path to self-love.

Shutterstock//Person in the photo is a model. Names changed

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