11:00 a.m.

The CBSE website was supposed to open at 11.

It is now 11:37.

I have refreshed the page so many times that even Google Chrome is judging me personally. At one point my laptop froze and I genuinely whispered, “Please don’t do this to me,” like it was a dying character in a movie.

The website keeps showing:
“Error.”

Thank you. Very helpful. Revolutionary information.

Mumma has walked into my room at least 19 times pretending she “just came to keep clothes.” Sure. And I’m Shah Rukh Khan.

Papa suddenly cares deeply about internet speed.

“WiFi theek chal raha hai?”
“Roll number ready rakho.”
“Laptop charge pe lagao.”

BRO I KNOW.

Meanwhile my relatives have unlocked Olympic-level timing.

“Beta result aaya???”

No aunty. The Education Ministry called and said they’re waiting for my permission first.

And why does result day make the whole house feel like India vs Pakistan finals? Everybody becomes weirdly serious. Even my younger brother was sitting quietly in the corner eating Kurkure and staring at me like I was about to get voted out of a reality show.

I tried distracting myself for some time. Opened Instagram. Biggest mistake of my life.

People had already started posting:
“Hard work pays off”
“Proud of myself”
“98.6%”

Brother ewww.

I immediately closed the app because suddenly I was convinced I had failed every subject including English, which is embarrassing because this diary entry itself is in English.

By 11:42 my body had fully betrayed me.

Hands sweaty.

Heart beating way too fast.

Leg shaking like crazy.

Stomach doing cartwheels.

I kept getting random thoughts every two seconds:
“What if I fail math?”
“What if everyone scores better than me?”
“What if my result doesn’t load and technically I remain academically unborn forever?”

And the worst part is that waiting somehow feels worse than the actual result.

Because when you don’t know what’s about to happen, your brain becomes Netflix. It starts creating dramatic storylines nobody asked for.

Suddenly I was imagining:

• becoming “the disappointing cousin”
• deleting WhatsApp forever
• avoiding eye contact with society
• running away to the mountains and starting a peaceful goat farm

All before a PDF even loaded.

Apparently this whole panic mode is called the fight-or-flight response. Your brain thinks something huge and dangerous is happening, so it releases stress chemicals like adrenaline and cortisol.

Which is honestly so dramatic because no tiger is chasing me.

It’s literally marks.

But your body doesn’t know the difference. So your heart races, your palms sweat, and your brain starts overthinking every life decision you’ve ever made since Class 3.

At around 11:51, the page finally loaded for TWO seconds before crashing again.

I almost screamed.

Mumma from outside:
“AAYA??”

ME:
“NO IT LEFT AGAIN.”

By then the entire family had gathered behind me. I could FEEL people breathing near my shoulders. Why do Indian families watch results together like it’s a public event? Please let me fail privately if needed.

Then finally.

FINALLY.

The page opened properly.

My marks appeared.

I just stared at the screen for a solid five seconds because my brain stopped processing numbers. Everything went weirdly silent for a moment.

And then?

Nothing dramatic happened.

The world didn’t end.

Nobody fainted.

The ceiling fan continued spinning peacefully.

Mumma just said, “Achha hai,” after causing me emotional damage for four hours straight.

Honestly, after all that panic, the actual result felt almost anticlimactic.

But those few minutes before checking it?

Actually terrifying.

I think I aged emotionally by at least 12 years before noon.

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.

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.

Whenever someone says “year-end reflection,” most teens imagine sitting with a notebook, staring into space, and suddenly remembering every awkward thing they did since January. Some imagine a teacher saying, “Write five goals for the new year,” and instantly feel the urge to sleep. Others picture a motivational video telling them to wake up at 5 am, drink green juice, and become a new person on 1st January.

This article is not going in any of those directions.

Reflection does not have to feel like homework or emotional pressure. It can actually be gentle and even slightly funny. Think of it like a small puzzle where you are not trying to solve your entire life. You are only picking a few pieces and noticing how they fit into your year.

Here is a calm, step-by-step, overthinker friendly guide to looking back at your year before 2026 arrives.

Step 1: Small wins only rule

Most people begin reflecting by thinking of everything they did not do. Did not top the class. Did not keep up with morning workouts. Did not stop procrastinating. Did not magically become less awkward in front of a crush.

Here, we ignore all of that. We focus only on tiny wins that actually happened.

Maybe you finally cleaned your school bag after months of pretending it was fine. Maybe you survived a group project without fighting with the bossy classmate. Maybe you remembered to drink water on your own. Maybe you learned how to do something small that used to scare you. These small wins are important because they show real growth, not social media style achievements.

Reflection becomes more enjoyable when the goal is simply to notice the little things that made your year feel brighter.

Step 2: The three moments of choice

You do not need to choose your best memories or your most productive ones. Just three moments that stayed in your mind.

Maybe you laughed so hard with a friend that your stomach hurt. Maybe you cried but felt supported afterward. Maybe you ate something so spicy that you questioned every life decision. Maybe someone said something kind that you still think about.

These small pieces of the year tell a much more honest story than big achievements. They remind you that your year was full of feelings, experiences, and moments that made you a little more you.

Step 3: The one thing you learned by accident

Life teaches you things even when you are not trying to learn. These lessons do not need to sound smart or deep.

It could be something as simple as realising that sleeping at 2 am every day is not a personality trait. Or that you do not need to reply to every message instantly. Or that some friendships feel lighter when you stop trying so hard. Or that getting a dramatic haircut during exams is never a good idea.

Even one simple lesson can make your year feel meaningful.

Step 4: Something that felt heavy 

Every year has something that feels heavy. Maybe it was exam pressure. Maybe it was a friendship drama. Maybe it was stress at home. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was just the feeling of being overwhelmed for no clear reason.

Naming the heavy things is not about reliving them or trying to solve them. It simply helps you recognise what used up your energy. Once you see it clearly, you walk into the new year with slightly more understanding of yourself.

There is nothing to fix here. Only something to gently notice.

Step 5: Something you want more of

This is not a goals list. This is not a resolutions list. This is not a punishment list for everything you failed to do.

This is one quiet question. What do I want more of next year

Maybe more sleep. Maybe more laughter. Maybe more calm mornings. Maybe more confidence in speaking up. Maybe more time with people who make you feel like yourself. Maybe more kindness toward your own mistakes.

Choosing what you want more of is a softer and kinder way to guide your next year.

The grand finale

Some years are for thriving. Some years are for learning. Some years are for surviving. All three deserve recognition.

School, friendships, exams, crushes, moods, expectations, disappointments, and unexpected joys all happened in one year. And somehow you moved through all of it. That is not a small thing. That is something to celebrate quietly and honestly.

Reflection is not about being perfect. It is not about proving anything. It is simply about noticing your life. You do not need to enter 2026 as a completely new person. You can step into it as the same person you already are but with a little more understanding, a little more softness, and a little more space to grow at your own pace.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Tara. She wasn’t trapped in a spooky castle or cursed by a witch. Nope. Her tower was more modern and, honestly, way sneakier: it was her own home, ruled by ultra-strict parents who had rules for literally everything.

No phone after 9 PM. No hanging out with friends on weekdays. No loud music. No late-night snacks. Basically, no fun without parental Wi-Fi approval. Tara felt like Rapunzel stuck in a tower… except her tower had Wi-Fi, and instead of a magical braid, she had… homework and guilt.

At first, Tara thought she could outsmart it. She imagined a Tangled-level rescue: a friend, a sibling, maybe even a mysterious stranger on a motorbike (okay, Flynn Rider) who’d swoop in, hand her a starbucks with her name on it, and tell her, “Let’s goo.”

Reality check: Flynn Rider never showed up. And swinging out the window on a braid? Not an option. Her attempts to sneak out always ended in her parents catching her mid-text or mid-sneak snack raid. Tara was officially grounded, again.

Even her hobbies started betraying her. Painting? Meh. Guitar? More like “ugh, why bother.” Texting friends? Exhausting. TikTok scrolling? Somehow more stressful than her algebra homework. And the real plot twist? Her brain had joined the parental team. “You’re lazy.” “Why can’t you be like your cousin, Aisha, who’s running a YouTube channel AND learning French?”

Then one evening, Tara had a moment. She grabbed her notebook,yes, an actual notebook, not Notes on her phone and started scribbling: the frustration, the boredom, the feeling that she was trapped in a real-life TikTok reel called “Teen Trapped at Home: Day 437.”

She realized the tower wasn’t just her parents’ rules, it was also her own expectations. She’d been comparing herself to everyone online: cousins, friends, strangers making viral videos. And honestly? She was exhausted.

And then came her Rapunzel glow-up moment. She didn’t need a dramatic escape. She needed a strategy:

• Asking to stay out a little longer without sending a 50-message group chat to plead.
• Negotiating music time in her room without blasting it so loud it triggered the parental alarm system.
• Scheduling short “freedom breaks” to paint, play guitar, prank her brother, or binge-watch a show she actually likes (yes, even reality TV counts).

Suddenly, the tower didn’t feel like a trap. Tara realized walls aren’t always prison walls—they can be practice spaces for negotiation, patience, and tiny rebellions that don’t get you grounded for life.

And slowly, things changed. She didn’t magically become the queen of independence overnight. Some days she still stared at the ceiling, thinking, “Why am I like this?” But now she had tricks up her sleeve, moments to laugh, and a legit sense of control.

The twist? Tara didn’t need Flynn Rider, a magical braid, or some epic escape. She realized the real rescue was her own courage, her creativity, and a little bit of teen-level strategy. The tower hadn’t disappeared but she had figured out how to live in it without losing herself.

Moral of the story: sometimes the hero isn’t the mysterious stranger or the viral trend. Sometimes it’s just you… learning how to wiggle, sneak, negotiate, and laugh your way out of a TikTok-length tower moment.

The End

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.

Maria: Hey, how was your break?

Devi : Not great. My brain has been spiraling nonstop. Random thoughts, worst-case scenarios, everything. Read the tsunami alert news in the US, then that 8.4 earthquake? My mind’s been a mess. 

Maria: Yeah, it’s been nonstop. Been there. 

Devi: I know. But weirdly, I keep going back to that old Air India AI-171 crash. I just can’t stop thinking about it…Imagine going on a vacation with your family, and the next moment you’re just…gone.

Maria: I know. It’s been all over the news. The crash was really tragic—241 innocent lives lost in a matter of seconds. Some were headed out to start a new life, some were just going home. Now their stories will remain unwritten.

Devi: That is so heavy. It’s actually scary how uncertain life is. Like… any one of us could have been on that flight.

Maria: We all board flights today without even thinking twice, just assuming we’ll land safely. But that flight didn’t, and now all those people are just a headline or a number in some random news report.

Devi: Like, I know I sound all deep and philosophical right now, but this crash really got me thinking about life.

Maria: Honestly, same. Even though it didn’t happen to us or anyone we love, it kind of woke me up. I even told my brother I loved him, without roasting him after!

Devi: In a weird way, it made me realise how tiny our problems are. And instead of planning everything to a T, we should just live a little. No one knows how much time we have left, and I’d rather be making memories than overthinking every single thing.

Maria: Same. I don’t want to keep waiting for the “right time.” Like that packet of expensive chocolates that got expired, just sitting in my fridge waiting to be opened on some special occasion.

Devi: You’re right. Today is our moment, and we should take out time to do things we love, and for people we love.

Maria: Even the little things, like getting a scoop of your favourite ice cream or gossiping with your best friend.

Devi: I had actually forgotten how pretty the sky looks when it’s all orange and pink. I just stood there and stared at it last night.

Maria: What do you say? Let’s celebrate today with a nice cup of coffee while watching the sunset.

Have you ever been in this situation? Share with us in the comments box below. Remember not to share any personal information in the comment boxes.

Amogh shares a page of his diary as he prepares to change schools. Again. A difficult goodbye or the chance for a new beginning. Find out in this edition of Dear diary. 

Dear diary,

“You’re joining a new school!”

These five words (or six, if you count “you’re” as “you are”) basically shake up everything in your existence when you’re a kid. And I really mean everything. 

The words sink in, and suddenly, you realise what this means: this is the last time you see your friends. The last time you see your teachers. The last time you’re going to walk the familiar hallways, the last time you enter through beloved gates, the last time you enter homeroom. Think about it… the place, the people you spent 8 hours every day with? You might never see them again. It genuinely feels like all that you loved, lived and laughed for is just…ending. Ok, so it’s probably not that dramatic. But still. 

The feeling is complex. It’s a mix of shock, excitement, stress, melancholy, and basically everything in between. I’ve moved schools and moved countries 3 times, and yet, the idea of moving schools still catches me completely off guard. Well, I’m shifting schools. Again. Fourth time’s the charm?. And those five words still spark some sense of how I felt moving schools for the first time, back when I was 6 years old. My father had just gotten transferred to New York, and we were leaving the country in a month-and-a-half. And everything I said about moving schools in the second paragraph? Well, all that is compounded to the power 8 when you’re moving to another country. 

Back then, I didn’t really know what to feel. To be honest, I was more like: “Well, what am I supposed to do? New York? What’s that? Huh? Lego? Wait… can I have a Lego for my birthday? Please… Lego Star Wars? Darth Vader? Kylo Ren? Wait… the Force Awakens is in theatres? Papa? Can we go watch?” So, I really didn’t feel too much. 

As little kids, I guess we’re more optimistic, because I didn’t really care about the fact that this was the last time I’d probably see most people around me at school. I didn’t feel most of the melancholy. All I really cared about was the new Lego AT-AT Walker set which was releasing in New York a lot earlier than it was in India. 

But fast forward two years, just as I’m completing third grade in New York, I hear those five  words again. Followed by “We’re moving to Dublin, in Ireland!” Initially, I’m dumbfounded. Which Dublin again? And after I’m done pondering about how I’m going to shift all my Lego sets to Dublin – the one in Ireland, I realize what’s going to happen. And an uneasy feeling hits me. So the next day in school, I tell all my friends that, in a month, I’m probably never seeing them again. Every day, I get more and more anxious. I had finally started to feel comfortable in New York, and now we have to move again? I’m helplessly crushed, and I have no idea how the heck I’m going to survive in Ireland.

The time finally comes. The first day of school in Ireland. Gotta remember to call soccer football again. After 8 long hours, I’m like: Well. It wasn’t that bad. Maybe I can get by. 4th grade goes by, and so does 5th grade, and 6th grade, and finally, I’m nearing the end of 7th grade, when I’m bombarded with another announcement. “You’re going back to India. We’ve enrolled you in a great IB scho-” 

What?! This time, I feel like I’m going to go crazy. Once again, just as I was finally enjoying my life in Ireland, I got the news that I’m going back. So, everytime I laugh at my friend’s joke, I think maybe this is the last time. Every time I take a bite out of my lunch, I think maybe this is the last sandwich I eat in this country. Maybe the last St. Patrick’s day parade… 

Fast forward again, this time to 8th grade. I’m in India, and life is good. I have a bunch of friends, and I’m enjoying playing cricket and competing in chess tournaments. The year goes by fast, and 9th grade comes by. I’m feeling great. I’m enjoying my life, and the only thing that can upset me is if someone reminds me that India lost the 2023 Cricket World Cup. But, otherwise, I’m having a blast. And then… the day comes… again…

A different school. A different country. Different people. The last time I’ll play football with my friends. The last time I’ll go to the second floor bathroom. The last time I’ll go to the first floor bathroom. The last time I’ll go to the third floor bathroom. All these thoughts, and more, keep replaying in my head during the last day of school. To be honest, I really don’t know what to feel, once again. 

But maybe that’s fine.

Someone wise once said “change is the only constant”. So I guess this is just “change” reasserting itself into my life. Because moving schools might mean the end of one experience, but it’s also the beginning of another. Because for every last day of 9th grade, there’s a first day of 10th grade. Maybe it only gets easier when we embrace the change. When we normalize it, instead of resisting it. Because… without change, we really wouldn’t be here. 

Would you like to share your feelings with TeenBook? Send us your thoughts in the comments box! Remember, not to put any personal information in the comment box.

​​Advika: Hey, that picture you posted yesterday, you looked amazing! Loved the dress.

Charu: Thanks… but honestly, I might delete it when I go back home today.

Advika: Why? What happened?

Charu: When I look in the mirror, I just… I don’t like what I see. Like, everyone around me looks so perfect all the time. And it’s like no matter what I do, I never feel enough. Like, why can’t I just be okay with myself, the way I am?  I wear baggy clothes so no one notices me but even then I feel like I’m not good enough. Like, no matter what I do, it’s never it.

Advika: Why do you feel that way?

Charu: Recently, I posted a pic in this dress the other day, it was kinda bold for me, but I actually felt good for once. And then I saw the comments… people calling me ‘flat’ and saying I look like a boy. or ‘where are the curves?’ Honestly, why do people have to ruin everything?

Advika: I’m so sorry you had to read those things about yourself. That’s just awful.

Charu: It’s not just that one post though. It’s happened my whole life. People keep saying things like “You should eat more,” or “You’ll fly away in the wind,” as if it’s harmless fun. But their words deeply affect me and make me feel uncomfortable in my skin.

Advika: I wish people would understand the impact their words can have on others. A joke for them can become an insecurity for someone else.

Charu:  And what stings the most? It’s not just strangers. Sometimes it’s the people closest to me. Like the other day, my aunt just casually goes, ‘Real women have curves.’ Like… so what am I then? Fake? 

Advika: Oh Charu, I’m so sorry she said that. That must’ve really hurt. It’s so unfair how people say stuff like that without thinking. You shouldn’t have to laugh it off just to protect yourself.

Charu: I know. I guess I’ve just spent so many years hearing things like that, it’s hard to shake it off.

Advika: I get it. But listen, try looking at your so-called flaws not as things to hide or fix, but things that make you you.  Who even decides what ‘perfect’ looks like? To me, it’s when someone’s just being themselves. That’s way more powerful than any filter or body type. 

Charu:  Of course it’s tough. I’’ve been hearing this stuff for years. It’ll take time to unlearn it, but even just talking about it like this? That’s a brave first step I feel.

Advika: Totally. And for your next step, try and be your own cheerleader. If others are putting you down, you’ve got to lift yourself up. Maybe write down one thing you love about yourself every day-just one. Your confidence should come from within, not from what other people say.

Charu: Hmm, okay. I’ll try. It’s just so easy to believe the negative stuff.

Advika: It’s so messed up how we’re made to believe looks = worth. But girl, the stuff people actually remember? It’s how you made them laugh, how you listened when they needed someone, not whether you had perfect skin or a ‘model’ body.

Charu: You’re right. I’ve never really looked at it that way before. Maybe I am already enough… I just need to remind myself more often.

Advika: Exactly! And I’ll remind you too every single time you forget.

Charu: Thanks, Advika. Talking to you makes me feel a little lighter. Maybe I won’t delete that post after all. 

Advika: That’s the spirit. Keep showing up as you. The world needs more of that. 

Have you ever been in this situation? Share with us in the comments box below. Remember not to share any personal information in the comment boxes.

A few days ago, I was on my way home from office, sitting quietly in the metro. That’s when I overheard a girl talking to her friend. She said she wasn’t happy with her skin colour and wanted to try some new products to fix it. And just like that, it hit me – I’d been in that exact same place once. But my issue was different. It was my height.

I’ve always been on the shorter side – just a little over 4 feet. And honestly, it was like the only thing people ever noticed about me. My family used to stress out so much about it. “Shaadi kaise hogi iski?” was the usual background music at home. And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I got glasses. Yup, now I was short and wore specs. The name-calling began – “chashmish,” and a bunch of other weird stuff. Some even came from my own family.

The “height problem” obsession

There was this cousin whose daughter was also short. Her family was struggling to find a match for her. So, naturally, they turned to the Internet and ordered some height-increasing medicines. And guess what? My family copied them and handed me the same meds. No doctor, no questions. 

By then, I was already tired of the stares, the jokes, and the “friendly” advice. So I didn’t even think twice. I just started taking those pills, secretly hoping I’d grow taller overnight. For a week straight, I took them without missing a day. But instead of growing taller, my body started reacting to it.

When things went downhill

Sticky liquid started coming out of my breasts, and soon after, I got my first period -way earlier than expected. That was scary. Then came the tiredness, mood swings, loss of appetite. I was cranky all the time. Basically, I was falling apart and had no idea why.

Finally, my mumma took me to a doctor. The moment he heard about the meds, he said, “Stop them. Now.” He told us those medicines were messing with my hormones and could cause long-term damage. 

Lesson learned the hard way

That experience taught me a big lesson: never mess with your body just to fit in or meet some random beauty standard. So what if I’m short? That doesn’t make me any less cool or capable. I don’t need to change to please anyone.

Today, I own my height. I rock my glasses. I love my body, just the way it is. No filters, no fakeness. Just me.

And honestly? That’s more than enough.

What is positive reinforcement?

Positive reinforcement is when someone encourages your behavior through praise, rewards, or support. Basically, when your parents cheer you on for doing something good—whether it’s working hard on a school project or helping a friend—they’re reinforcing that behavior. Over time, this shapes how you think and feel about yourself!

How does it help your mental health?

Let’s break it down:

1. Confidence boost

Imagine you auditioned for a school play and didn’t get the lead role. But instead of saying, “Maybe next time,” your parents tell you, “We’re so proud of how bravely you auditioned!” That’s positive reinforcement. It helps you focus on effort, not just results, making you more confident to try new things in the future.

2. Building emotional strength

Ever felt like giving up on a tricky math problem? If your parents say, “You’re really trying hard, and that’s what matters,” you’re more likely to keep going instead of quitting. Encouragement like this helps you develop resilience—the ability to bounce back from challenges—which is a superpower for mental health.

3. Stronger parent-child bond

A high-five, a warm hug, or even a simple “I’m proud of you” creates a sense of security and trust at home. This makes it easier to share feelings, talk about struggles, and ask for help when needed. And guess what? Having this kind of support reduces anxiety and stress in the long run!

4. Handling setbacks like a pro

Nobody enjoys failure, but positive reinforcement makes it easier to learn from mistakes instead of fearing them. If your parents say, “It’s okay, mistakes help us grow,” after a tough test, you’ll start seeing setbacks as part of learning rather than a reason to feel bad.

5. Better social skills

Ever been praised for helping a friend or being kind to your sibling? When parents acknowledge kindness, it encourages you to keep being a good friend. This makes social interactions smoother and helps you build strong, meaningful relationships.

6. Less stress, more positivity

Getting a “Nice try! You’ll get it next time” instead of criticism reduces the pressure to be perfect. This lowers stress and makes challenges feel manageable, helping you stay positive even when things don’t go as planned.

7. Encourages creativity & curiosity

When parents say things like, “That’s a brilliant idea!” it boosts problem-solving skills and confidence in your own thoughts. This makes learning and trying new things way more fun and rewarding!

What does positive reinforcement look like?

It’s not always about big rewards—sometimes, it’s the small gestures that count! Examples include:

• A thumbs-up for completing homework
• “I noticed how kind you were to your friend today.”
• Extra playtime for finishing chores
• Celebrating small wins with your favorite meal
• A fun movie night for consistent effort in school

Final thoughts

Positive reinforcement isn’t about fake compliments. It’s about recognizing real effort and progress, which makes you feel safe to explore, learn, and grow. So next time you feel stuck, remind yourself: progress matters more than perfection!

And hey, if you see someone trying their best, why not cheer them on? A simple “You’ve got this!” can go a long way. 

Stay curious, stay awesome, and keep learning!

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.