Your Anxiety Is My Reality

It’s 8:12 am on Monday morning, and my phone rings:

“Sir, should Aarav apply to all - the US, UK, Canada, Singapore and Dubai?”

Before I could answer, his mother added Australia first! That question explains the year college guidance counselors have had. We were not merely helping students choose universities. We were running international control rooms, tracking visa rules, geopolitics, currencies, job markets and whichever AI headline frightened parents before I even finished my first set of squash games.

The first confusion was geography. Families that once built one thoughtful list built five nervous ones. This year, by February 1, 2026, Common App alone had received 9.19 million applications from 1.4 million applicants. Applications rose faster than applicants, meaning each student was submitting more forms. And that is only the American pile. For international counselors, every extra country meant another calendar, essay system, recommendation format, portal and parental WhatsApp group.

The second confusion was the future. “Is computer science finished?” Rhea’s father asked after reading that AI could code. The next week, he wanted her to study AI. Then finance. Then “something combining neuroscience, entrepreneurship and machines.” Career conversations became market speculation. Students were asked to select a life before they had selected a favourite subject.

The third confusion entered quietly through the essay document. Kabir, usually funny and slightly chaotic, submitted a paragraph describing his “multifaceted journey of profound personal transformation.” Nobody speaks like that, especially not Kabir. We spent two hours recovering the boy from the vocabulary. Meanwhile, adolescent loneliness is not imagined: the WHO reports that roughly one in five teenagers and young adults experiences it. Today, counselors are therefore managing anxious students who increasingly outsource reflection to machines. The result is polished grammar, weak storytelling and essays with no pulse.

Then came results day. Meera had been predicted 39 in the IBDP. She scored 34. Her UK offer required 36. Her parents called the school, the university, the UCAS, the IEC and, possibly, God. Conditional offers are exactly that: UCAS states that students must meet the stated requirements, usually final exam results. Yet counselors spent weeks drafting explanations for drops that months of warnings had failed to prevent.

Finally came the visa. Arjun has his admission, deposit receipt and I-20. What he does not have is an F-1 appointment. Recent Fall 2026 reports described slots being released in batches and disappearing within minutes, while student visa applicants are also subject to online-presence review. His suitcase is packed. His mother checks the portal at 3:00 a.m. His visa agent checks it at 3:05. His counselors (who apparently has nothing to do with immigration), helplessly, gets 14 missed calls by 3:10.

That is why this year feels exhausting. Too much of our work has shifted from guidance to anxiety absorption. We are no longer only asking, “Which college fits this child?” We are asking whether the country will admit them, the embassy will stamp them, the grades will hold, the career will exist and the essay was written by a human. And, whether the fragile mental health of this child will hold.

No wonder we, the counselors, are tired. We have spent the year carrying everyone else’s uncertainty and incertitude. And still, at 8:12 tomorrow morning, I will answer the phone, open the spreadsheet and begin untangling another child’s next steps.

PS: And don't even get me started on how hot it's been this summer, and the lack of rain!