When the Dream Comes True, But the Struggle Doesn’t End
Chapter 2 of the World Mental Health Day Series — October 10
I am also a mother of a JEE aspirant. Perhaps that is why the words of these two young students—Harshal and Chinmay—did not feel to me like merely two students sharing their views. Their simple, honest words shook me from within and made me stop and think:
Our child is not a trophy.
Why do we sometimes expect our children to fulfil the dreams and expectations we could not fulfil ourselves? Why do we sometimes use our children’s achievements to prove ourselves to society, to build our own identity, or to establish our name?
A child is not a certificate of our success.
We need to let our children remain children.
These two young people said some very profound things so naturally that I kept thinking about them afterwards.
They made me wonder:
Perhaps they have said so simply what many young people find so difficult to say—that being at ease with oneself is becoming increasingly difficult.
For a long time, we have understood students’ mental-health struggles mainly through the lens of academic pressure—the fear of failure, competitive examinations, uncertainty about the future, and the pressure to enter institutions such as IITs, medical colleges or other prestigious universities.
But conversations with these two students from premier institutions made me look at the issue from a different perspective.
Harshal, a student at IIT Delhi, spoke about the extremely competitive environment within the institute. According to him, even students who are doing well academically can begin to overthink when they constantly see the opportunities available to others.
Questions begin to emerge:
Do I really have the potential for this opportunity? Am I working hard enough? Why is someone else getting this opportunity and not me?
In this way, competition does not necessarily end after entering a dream institution. Sometimes, it becomes even more visible.
Students who were among the best in their schools suddenly find themselves surrounded by hundreds of others who were equally talented and successful in their own schools.
Harshal also pointed towards something beyond academics—the dynamics of friendship groups.
Jokes and teasing among friends may seem harmless, but sometimes a joke can touch someone’s deepest insecurity. Instead of talking about the hurt, a student may keep thinking about it, withdraw from the group and gradually begin to feel lonely.
He also spoke about relationships.
Young people can become deeply emotionally attached to their partners. When such a relationship ends, the impact can be very painful—especially when that relationship has become their primary source of emotional support.
Harshal also identified family expectations as another factor.
Some parents continue to expect exceptionally high academic performance even after their child enters university, sometimes comparing it with the level of performance before JEE.
But life after JEE is very different.
A student who was among the best in school is suddenly surrounded by hundreds of students who were also among the best in their respective schools.
Parents may not always fully understand this transition because they see their child entering a prestigious institution, while the child is experiencing the competition from within.
Chinmay, a student at IIT Jodhpur, took the conversation to an even deeper level.
He did not have a specific incident to share, but when asked why a student might experience suicidal thoughts even after achieving something significant, he connected the issue with self-worth, trust and emotional vulnerability.
He mentioned several possible factors: being hurt so deeply that one begins to lose one’s sense of self-worth, losing trust in society, a lack of self-worth, and a lack of emotional intelligence.
But his most striking observation was about what can happen even after achievement.
A student may feel:
“I still could not become what I wanted to be. Every door is closed for me. No one truly loves me—my professors, my friends or the people around me. Everyone loves my position, not me.”
That last thought deserves us to pause:
“Everyone loves my position, not me.”
It takes us beyond the usual understanding of academic pressure.
A student may have the college, degree, job or social status that the world considers successful. And yet, somewhere inside, they may feel that they are not valued as a person.
This is where Alice Miller’s The Drama of the Gifted Child offers an interesting psychological lens.
Miller explores how children can learn to adapt themselves to the expectations of important people in their lives and, in the process, become disconnected from their own emotional needs.
The issue is not that achievement itself is harmful. The deeper concern arises when achievement becomes too closely connected with a person’s identity and sense of self-worth.
If a child repeatedly receives approval for being successful, capable, intelligent or “the best,” then failure—or simply no longer being the best—can become much more than an academic setback.
It can feel like a threat to one’s identity.
And perhaps this helps us understand the paradox that Chinmay points towards:
A student can achieve the dream and still feel that they have not become the person they wanted to be.
We often ask our children:
“What do you want to achieve in life?”
Perhaps we should also ask:
“Who are you when you are not achieving anything?”
Can you talk about your fears without feeling weak?
Can you fail without feeling worthless?
Can you lose a relationship without feeling that you have lost yourself?
Can you see someone else succeeding without believing that their success diminishes your own worth?
And most importantly:
Do you feel loved for who you are, or mainly for what you achieve?
Harshal’s observations bring us closer to the external pressures—competition, comparison, friendships, relationships and family expectations.
Chinmay’s observations take us deeper into the internal experience—self-worth, trust, emotional vulnerability and the painful feeling that perhaps people love one’s position, but not the person behind it.
Together, their perspectives remind us that student mental health cannot be understood through academic pressure alone.
Sometimes the struggle begins before the achievement.
Sometimes it begins after the achievement.
And sometimes, achievement was never the real problem.
The real struggle may be the question quietly sitting somewhere inside:
“If I am not successful, will I still be worthy of love?”
Perhaps we need to stop asking our children only:
“How much have you achieved?”
And start asking them more often:
“How are you?”
Because our child is not our trophy.
Our child is our child.
And they should not have to prove themselves all the time—not to us, not to society, and not to the world.
Mental illness is an illness, not a weakness. Seeking help from a counsellor or psychiatrist should never be a matter of shame.
Before teaching our children how to succeed, perhaps we need to learn how to make them feel safe—safe enough to tell us about their failures, their fears, their loneliness and even their vulnerabilities.
