by Er Umair Ul Umar
This post-examination period is among the most critical and formative stages in a student’s life. It demands clarity, decisive thinking, and deep introspection. Yet, it coincides with a phase of heightened vulnerability, where teenagers are particularly susceptible to external influence.
In a world governed by technology, social media has woven itself into the fabric of daily life. Platforms such as Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and YouTube have crafted a parallel reality, one that often feels more tangible to users than the physical world. Though these platforms offer numerous advantages—instant communication, unrestricted access to information, and avenues for creative expression—they also cast long shadows. For students emerging from the academic rigours of their 10th or 12th-grade board exams, the lure of social media can become less a blessing and more a burden.
This post-examination period is among the most critical and formative stages in a student’s life. It demands clarity, decisive thinking, and deep introspection. Yet, it coincides with a phase of heightened vulnerability, where teenagers are particularly susceptible to external influence. Social media, with its glossy façade and exaggerated portrayals of success, diverts attention and fosters an insidious culture of comparison. In an era dominated by reels and retweets, where each ‘like’ and ‘share’ delivers a hit of dopamine, these young individuals teeter between aspiration and anxiety. Academic results, once intimate markers of personal effort, have been transformed into public declarations, magnified through the lens of social media. The question “How did you score?” is no longer confined to living rooms—it is now a trending topic.
Each year, social media timelines erupt with jubilant posts celebrating toppers. Screens are awash with smiling faces, scores edging past 99 per cent, and hashtags like #ProudParent, #HardWorkPaysOff, and #TopperDiaries. While these posts may be intended to honour success, they often carry unintended consequences—setting impossible standards for others to match.
For students who have fallen short of their expectations, such celebrations can be profoundly disheartening. The relentless glorification of academic achievement cultivates an atmosphere of silent pressure. The internal monologue of “If she scored 98 per cent, why did I only manage 85?” becomes louder with each passing scroll. While applauding excellence is understandable, the narrative it constructs can be uncomfortably elitist—where anything less than perfection is silently dismissed as failure.
From the ashes of exams, pressure has risen on a new kind of influencer: the academic celebrity. These are students who, having topped competitive exams, are promptly recruited as ambassadors by coaching institutes—such as the SKIE Coaching Centre in Srinagar. One such student, after announcing her results, reappeared on social media to disclose she was experiencing mental trauma.
Many others follow suit, launching YouTube channels and Instagram accounts dedicated to study techniques, productivity hacks, and tales of “how I got 99 per cent in Class 12.” While often well-intentioned, these curated displays of perfection can prove psychologically damaging. Students begin to question their methods, feel inferior, and internalise failure before their results even arrive.
The concept of “success” becomes rigid, defined by early wake-up calls, colour-coded timetables, and an austere rejection of screen time. When a student’s reality does not align with these polished templates, guilt and diminished self-worth follow. What social media fails to highlight is the quiet resilience of the majority—the students who tried, who learnt, who may not have topped the charts but still hold promise and purpose.
Paradoxically, social media is also where students offload their stress. Every results season, meme pages overflow with jokes about failing mathematics, overbearing parents, or evading inquisitive relatives. Laughter becomes a shared salve—a digital exhale amid the mounting pressure.
But beneath the humour lies an aching anxiety. Posts tagged with “marks ruined my life” or “turning into a monk after seeing my result” may elicit chuckles, but not all who laugh do so freely. Often, these jokes conceal genuine distress. Trends like “result reaction videos” and “how my parents reacted to my marks” blur the boundary between authenticity and performance. Students are left unsure how to process their emotions honestly in a space that commodifies vulnerability.
The consequences can be tragic. One young girl from Nillow, Kulgam in South Kashmir took her own life after receiving her 12th-grade results. Her story, like many others, is a sobering reminder of the real toll behind the filtered posts and viral trends.
Social media thrives on comparison. Be it a cousin flaunting a perfect scorecard or a friend boasting admission to an elite college, students are perpetually measuring themselves against curated glimpses of others’ lives.
This breeds what psychologists term “imposter syndrome”—a persistent feeling of inadequacy, even when one’s achievements are objectively commendable. A student who has scored well may still feel like a failure if another has scored marginally higher or secured admission into a more prestigious institution.
What worsens this phenomenon is the selective storytelling of social media. Users see only the highs—successes, accolades, and triumphs—while the late nights, breakdowns, and setbacks remain hidden. This imbalance distorts reality and can drive even diligent students towards feelings of worthlessness and despair.
In many households, particularly across South Asia, academic performance continues to serve as a primary measure of self-worth. The advent of social media has transformed this private pressure into a public performance. A father uploading his son’s 99 per cent score to Facebook is not merely expressing pride—it is a broadcast of familial status to a wider circle.
For students who fall short of these unspoken standards, the scrutiny can be suffocating. It is not only the sense of personal failure that burdens them but also the perceived disappointment of tarnishing the family’s online image. This pressure often goes unspoken—lurking in the silence that follows a mediocre result, the conspicuous absence of celebratory posts, or the whispered comparisons with a more “successful” cousin.
Paradoxically, while social media exacerbates stress, it also offers avenues for solace. Students share experiences, form virtual study groups, and engage with mental health platforms. The distinction, however, lies in moderation. Some young people choose to disconnect from social media during exam result season to protect their mental well-being. Others find themselves caught in a compulsive cycle—refreshing feeds, hunting for updates, scrolling through the successes of others, and clinging to motivational quotes they barely believe. This dependence often extends beyond academic milestones, shaping decisions about college admissions, careers, and ultimately, one’s confidence.
Social media is not inherently harmful; it reflects what users choose to project. Parents, educators, and influencers must help students engage with it more mindfully.
The focus should be on normalising all outcomes, not just the top scores. Effort deserves recognition, irrespective of the final tally. Real stories of perseverance and improvement must be amplified. Take, for instance, Shabnum G, a student living in a tarpaulin tent in the Tral area of Pulwama, who scored 463 out of 500. Stories like hers must be celebrated, for they represent triumph against the odds and the promise of a bright future.
Digital mentors—academic influencers with large followings—ought to weave mental health awareness into their content, fostering balance over perfection. Parental sensitivity is also key. The urge to parade marks online should be resisted unless the child feels genuinely comfortable. One colleague, whose daughter recently achieved exceptional results in the 12th class, responded to congratulatory inquiries with quiet grace: “She did well.” His restraint exemplified foresight and respect for his daughter’s privacy.
Peer compassion matters too. Instead of comparing, students must support one another. Every academic journey is unique, shaped by personal contexts and unseen struggles.
Board exam results are significant, but they are not definitive. In an age where social media magnifies every emotion and turns private achievements into trending moments, it is essential to remember that self-worth is not measured in percentages.
Social media, though powerful, can become a perilous distraction if wielded carelessly. For students stepping out of the 10th or 12th standard, the clamour of likes and comparisons can be overwhelming. What this phase demands is reflection, clarity, and careful planning—not anxiety, not digital envy.
Parents and educators must guide the youth to harness this digital age as a force for empowerment. A culture must be built where toppers are celebrated, but all students are honoured. Where trends do not dictate self-esteem, and trauma does not hide behind viral humour.
Let today’s students be reminded: your marks are merely a chapter—not your whole story.
(The author works as an IT teacher at the Government Girls Higher Secondary School, Yaripora, Kulgam. Ideas are personal.)
