“Society may set expectations, but your worth is defined by the fire inside you, not the standards imposed on you.”- Tash

Ah, yes, state exams. Remember those delightful, anxiety-ridden days when sleep was a myth, caffeine was a food group, and the sound of someone flipping through a textbook triggered a small existential crisis?

In Ireland, we dramatically call them the Leaving Cert, a title that sounds like you’re about to exit Earth’s atmosphere, not just secondary school.
In Australia, it’s called the HSC (Higher School Certificate), which honestly sounds suspiciously calm for something so soul-consuming.
And in India? Oh, it’s the mighty Board Exams, a phrase that strikes fear into the hearts of teenagers and parents alike. Because in India, a Board Exam isn’t just a test… It’s a full-blown family event complete with tension, tears, and ten different tutors.

My fingers were doing their best impression of plums, purple, cold, and as stiff as a board. That’s when the rational part of my brain finally kicked in and said, "Okay, enough’s enough, time for a coffee break." I stumbled into the staff room, hoping that the hot liquid would revive me, if only for a few minutes. There, sitting at the table like some serene oasis in the storm, was my colleague. You know the type, the one who, whenever you see her, you can’t help but grin because she’s always radiating this easy, sunny energy. But today? Today, it was like someone had dimmed her light, and all that was left was this dull, tired flicker.

“Hey, how are you?” I asked, my voice filled with that kind of casual concern you only throw out when you know something’s off, but you’re too polite to mention it.

She flashed a smile, but it was more like a reflex than anything genuine, the kind of smile you put on because you’ve been taught it’s the socially acceptable thing to do. “I’m fine,” she said, but that little lie was hanging in the air like the smoke from a campfire that’s too stubborn to dissipate.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering how badly I’d get caught if I asked the next question. But I did it anyway. “How’s your daughter?”

That was when the facade cracked. Her face twitched like she’d been hit with a jolt of electric frustration, her lips pursing in that way people do when they’re trying not to lose it in public. It was a look I recognized all too well. “This girl,” she started, voice rising like a kettle beginning to boil, “she doesn’t eat properly, she won’t sleep on time, and she drinks too much coffee!”

I froze, eyes wide, as if she’d just discovered my dark secret. I glanced at my mug, half-full, steaming, and way too big for a healthy human to be drinking before noon. Quickly, I tried to hide it, but let's be honest, it wasn’t the size of the mug that was the issue here; it was the fact that I was already on my third cup of the day. And it was decaf, just to be clear, so no judgment, okay? But still, I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty, like I was about to be caught sneaking a candy bar at a weight-loss seminar.

As my colleague vented about her daughter’s struggles, I couldn’t help but notice something beneath the surface, a vulnerability that mirrored her frustration. She wasn’t just upset with her daughter’s habits; she was questioning herself as a parent, her choices, and her efforts. Did I do enough? Did I provide the right food, the right environment? Did I set up a study space with the perfect desk, the right lighting, all the things that might help her succeed?

She sounded like she was carrying the weight of every parent’s worst fear: What if I failed my child?

It’s heartbreaking, that internal dialogue we all have as parents, the constant self-doubt that creeps in when things aren’t going as planned. And in that moment, I found myself transported back to when I was facing my state exams. I remembered the tension, the pressure, the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed by the thought that my entire future hinged on a few days of testing. It’s like every mistake, every missed answer, was somehow going to unravel everything I had worked for.

And yet, sitting across from her, I realized how much we all carry this weight, the weight of expectations, the weight of trying to be perfect. Why is it that we, both parents and students, feel like if we don’t perform in these exams, we’ve failed at life?

So, I said it. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing in my chest. "If you’re comfortable with it, let me talk to her with you there. Just so she doesn’t feel like she’s in this alone."

My colleague didn’t hesitate. Her relief was palpable as she immediately called her daughter. I watched as she pressed the phone to her ear, her eyes brimming with hope. She knew, deep down, that the weight she was carrying wasn’t one she had to bear alone.

I could see her glistening with relief as she listened to her daughter speak, her face softening from the tightness it had earlier. That moment, that connection, it was a reminder of something vital. We are all in this together, and sometimes, just talking it through can lighten the load.

The stress surrounding state exams is real. It’s like the world whispers in your ear that everything, absolutely everything, depends on these tests. Schools drum it into students, parents take on the burden, and society watches like it’s all a grand performance. But let’s be honest: It’s not the be-all and end-all.

Yet somehow, it feels like the stakes are so high. So, why is there so much emphasis on this one moment in time? Why does it feel like every student must either conquer the exam or risk losing everything?

The reality is grim. Every year, we see the statistics, the reports, the tragic stories of young lives taken too soon because the pressure became unbearable. Take Ireland, for example, where studies show that the suicide rate among young people spikes during exam seasons. A 2019 report from Ireland’s National Office for Suicide Prevention found that youth suicides rose by 20% during exam times, a devastating figure. And it’s not just Ireland; Australia sees similar trends. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, suicide is the leading cause of death for young Australians aged 15-24, and the pressure of exams is a key contributor. Meanwhile, in India, the crisis is just as severe. A 2018 study from the National Crime Records Bureau reported that over 10,000 students commit suicide annually, with the majority of these deaths linked to the stress of academic pressure.

For the families left behind, the impact is profound. The grief, the guilt, the never-ending “What if I had done more?” questions. It changes everything. And society, fickle as it is, often forgets these young lives. It moves on quickly, shifting its gaze to the next crisis, while those families are left to pick up the pieces, haunted by an empty chair at the dinner table.

So, what can parents do to help their children through this storm?

First, recognize that every child learns differently. A child shut in their room, staring at textbooks for hours, does not necessarily mean they are studying. It can be a sign of something more worrying, burnout. Just because they’re physically there doesn’t mean their mind is. My own experience showed me that some students, like me, learn best when the pressure is on. I crammed the night before my exams, but I made sure to create really good notes, notes I could use to digest everything in those final hours. If your child is like me, encourage them to do the same. Help them prepare in advance, so they have that option if they need it.

Encourage them to teach you what they’ve learned. You’ll be amazed by how much knowledge they grasp once they have to explain it to someone else. Research shows that teaching someone what you've just learned reinforces the material by 95%. It’s a simple but powerful strategy that not only boosts their understanding but also gives them confidence. And here’s the beautiful part: by children teaching their parents, and parents showing genuine interest, you’re both in this journey together. It’s not just about academics; it’s about building a bond, supporting each other, and creating a shared experience that strengthens your relationship.

And don’t forget breaks. Physical activity is essential. Walks. Quick runs. Even a bit of stretching. Their mind needs space to breathe, and so do they. You’ll see the difference it makes when they return to their work refreshed, rather than frazzled.  

Finally, minimize stress. Be there for them, in whatever way they need. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is simply show up, listen, and say, “I’m here, we’ll get through this together.”

For students, you need to think about your goals. What do you want from this? What do you want from your life? Setting clear, realistic goals is key, and it’s not about perfection; it’s about progress. Break your goals down into bite-sized chunks. Make them achievable. And block out the noise. Society loves to tell you that you’re not doing enough or that your results should define your worth. Don’t let that get to you. The distractions are designed to derail you, to take your focus off what really matters, your future, your path.

Here’s something I truly believe: Write down who you want to be. Be specific. Not just “I want to be successful,” but something like “I will be a successful architect who designs eco-friendly buildings and changes the world for the better.” Write it as if it’s already happening. And place it somewhere you can see it, on your bedroom door, on your mirror. Every morning, as you see those words, you’re affirming them to the universe, setting the intention. Believe me, the universe has a way of pulling things together when you put your intentions out there.

And if you don’t know what you want to do yet? That’s okay. You have time. You don’t need to have everything figured out right now. The world is full of people who change careers, sometimes more than once. It’s normal. You’ll figure it out, just give yourself the grace to grow into it.

For both parents and students alike, the key is this: This moment does not define you. Life is bigger, and it’s okay to step off the tightrope and breathe. Support each other, find your path, and above all, remember, you’re not alone in this.

After talking to my colleague’s daughter, I could feel the tension in the air start to dissipate, like a storm finally passing. It was as if the weight they’d both been carrying had lifted, even if just a little. My colleague’s eyes were glistening, but it wasn’t just from the exhaustion or the years of worry, it was from the relief. The kind of relief that comes when someone hears you, really hears you. Her gaze softened as the emotion climbed from the bottom of her eyes, inching its way to the top, almost as if to say, “Thank you for being here, for sharing this load.” She was so deeply grateful, and though it was just a few minutes out of my day, I knew those minutes meant the world to them.

As the call ended, I went back to my forgotten coffee, only to discover the once-steaming mug had become a sad, lukewarm puddle with a film of milk settling on top. The bitterness of that realization hit me harder than any exam stress ever could. I had been so absorbed in helping someone else, I’d forgotten my own tiny indulgence. So, with a sigh that was more theatrical than necessary, I dumped the cold, sad concoction and reached for the coffee pot again, because if nothing else, at least warm fingers could get me through the rest of the day.