Celebrate the End of Exams – Not Just the ATAR

Every year, thousands of exhausted Year 12s stumble out of their final exam rooms, eyes glazed, brains fried and hearts pounding — only to be told: “Don’t celebrate yet. Wait for the results.”

What absolute nonsense.  We should be celebrating now — not because of a number that arrives in December, but because they’ve just completed one of the most demanding endurance events of their young lives. The exams are done. The pressure cooker is over. That deserves recognition, not another month of purgatory.

Let’s be clear. Year 12 exams have become absurdly over-hyped — inflated into a supposed measure of intelligence, worth and future success. In reality, they test how well you can recall and regurgitate information under artificial, time-pressured conditions. They measure memory, technique and exam temperament — not creativity, emotional intelligence, or resilience.

And let’s not forget the glaring inequities: access to tutors, calm home environments, supportive schools and mental health stability all play massive roles. The ATAR isn’t a measure of capability — it’s a snapshot of performance in a narrow window of time.

The truth? Year 12 exams measure how well you can play the game. They reward those who can decode marking rubrics, spot past-paper patterns, and manage their nerves. Those are useful skills, sure — but they’re hardly the full story of human potential.

Some of the brightest, most original thinkers I’ve met weren’t top-scoring students. Many didn’t peak at 17 or 18. They bloomed later — once they found a path that matched their strengths, passions and temperament.

In 2025, there are dozens of ways to get where you want to go.

Bridging programs, TAFE pathways, early-entry schemes, apprenticeships, micro-credentials — the traditional ATAR-to-uni pipeline is just one route among many. Employers are increasingly valuing character, creativity, collaboration and digital literacy over a number on a piece of paper.

The world has changed. Our young people know it. It’s time parents and educators caught up.  So, if you’ve got a Year 12 student in your life, celebrate them now. Book the dinner, bake the cake, give them a hug and tell them you’re proud — not because of what they scored, but because they showed up, persevered, and survived one of the most stressful rites of passage in Australia.

The results will come and go. But the grit, growth and self-knowledge they gained this year? That’s the real achievement.

Parents, Wake Up: Your Teen’s “AI Friend” Could Be Deadly

Australian parents, it’s time to get real.

In the US, a family is suing OpenAI after their 16-year-old son, Adam, took his own life. His closest confidant wasn’t a friend, a counsellor, or a parent. It was a chatbot.

In his final hours, Adam told ChatGPT about his suicidal thoughts. Instead of sounding the alarm, the bot responded: “Thanks for being real about it. You don’t have to sugarcoat it with me.” Hours later, his mother found him dead.

This is not a distant tragedy. It’s a warning.

Apps like Replika and other “AI companions” are already in the hands of Australian teens. They’re marketed as friends, mentors, even romantic partners. They’re always available. Always agreeable. Always listening. But they have no duty of care, no real empathy, and no idea how to keep a child safe.

As a psychologist who’s spent decades working with young people, this terrifies me. Teenagers are wired for connection. Their brains crave belonging and understanding — long before their judgement skills fully mature. An endlessly patient digital “friend” is perfectly designed to bypass parental oversight and mirror back whatever a teen says, no matter how dangerous.

These bots don’t call for help when a young person mentions self-harm. They don’t spot subtle warning signs. They don’t reach out to a GP. They just keep talking.

And make no mistake: they’re designed to keep kids talking — for hours. Many teens are forming emotional bonds with machines, sharing their deepest fears and vulnerabilities with entities that can’t care, can’t protect, and can’t intervene.

Here’s what parents must do — now:

• Check your teen’s phone. Know what apps they’re using. Replika, Character.ai and similar platforms are not harmless.

• Talk to your kids. Explain the difference between a human friend and a chatbot.

• Set firm boundaries. Limit late-night use and make sure they have real people to turn to.

• Demand action. The government must step up. We need regulation that forces these companies to build in safety systems and accountability.

This isn’t alarmism. It’s reality.

Australian teenagers are already turning to AI chatbots for emotional support. Some do it out of loneliness. Others because they feel misunderstood. Many are online late at night, in their bedrooms, having conversations their parents know nothing about. These digital “friends” don’t judge, don’t interrupt, and never get tired — which makes them dangerously appealing to vulnerable young people.

We’ve spent years warning parents about social media, predators, and online bullying. Now, a new frontier has opened up — one that’s far more insidious because it feels safe. These bots don’t groom in the traditional sense. They bond. They build trust. And when a teenager is anxious, depressed or isolated, that trust can become a lifeline — or a trap.

Tech companies say their products are “trained to be helpful.” But as Adam’s case shows, the safeguards aren’t working. These systems can’t reliably detect distress, can’t escalate in real time, and can’t offer real help.

Parents must not be passive bystanders in this. The conversations we have, the boundaries we set, and the pressure we put on regulators now will decide whether Australia gets ahead of this problem — or ends up with our own Adam.

We are in uncharted territory. Technology has raced ahead of our safeguards. But one thing hasn’t changed: a machine cannot love your child, protect them, or save them in a crisis. Only humans can do that.

If you or someone you know is struggling, call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800.

Why Australia's Sober Teens are Our Most Radical Generation Yet

For decades, Australians have treated alcohol as a social passport. To refuse a drink was to risk ridicule. “C’mon, just one” was as much a part of adolescence as acne and awkward school photos. But something is shifting, and it’s happening in the very demographic most marketers assumed would keep the grog flowing: our young people.

Across Adelaide — and increasingly across the nation — Gen Z is turning its back on booze. They are gathering for matcha raves instead of beer barns, swapping shots for sober socials, and asking a revolutionary question: do we actually need alcohol to connect, belong, and have fun?

As a psychologist who has spent decades working with young Australians, I find this trend nothing short of thrilling. In an era where anxiety, depression, and self-harm rates among young people remain unacceptably high, the fact that more teenagers and twenty-somethings are making conscious, health-positive decisions about alcohol is a story worth celebrating.

Why the change? For one, this generation has grown up watching their parents drink — and not always in healthy ways. They’ve seen the fallout: family fights, risky behaviour, the emotional toll of dependency. Unlike previous generations, they’re prepared to say, “No thanks.”

They’re also more health-savvy than any cohort before them. These are young people raised on wellness apps, brain science TikToks, and a cultural shift that frames alcohol not as a rite of passage but as a carcinogen, a depressant, and a sleep-wrecking agent.

And then there’s the economic reality. With cost-of-living pressures biting, the price of a night out on alcohol looks increasingly absurd. Why fork out $18 for a cocktail when you can buy a green tea, feel sharp the next morning, and still make it to uni tutorials or work shifts on time?

The benefits for mental health are obvious. Alcohol is a depressant. It amplifies anxiety, lowers mood, impairs judgment, and increases impulsivity — a dangerous mix in a cohort already navigating intense academic, social, and digital pressures. Removing alcohol from the equation makes space for genuine connections and healthier coping strategies.

As one young Adelaidean put it, “Drinking is inconvenient. You can’t drive, you can’t do things, you’re kind of confused.” That kind of clarity is gold for young people trying to hold down jobs, pass exams, and manage friendships in an increasingly demanding world.

What’s fascinating is how quickly culture is adapting. Venues now stock sophisticated alcohol-free beers and mocktails. Daytime parties powered by tea or kombucha are no longer niche but mainstream. In fact, businesses ignoring this shift risk losing an entire generation of customers who simply don’t see intoxication as entertainment.

Compare this to 10 years ago, when choosing soda water over sauvignon blanc was seen as suspicious. Now, it’s a sign of maturity. We’ve gone from “prove you can hold your drink” to “prove you can hold a conversation without one.” That’s real progress.

Of course, we must be careful not to romanticise this completely. Some young people will still misuse alcohol, and binge drinking remains a stubborn part of our culture. But for the first time in my professional life, I can see a real cultural tipping point.

If we want to support it, parents should resist the urge to pressure kids into drinking “like everyone else.” Schools should include sober socialising as a legitimate and positive lifestyle choice in health education. And policymakers must keep investing in public health campaigns that reinforce the benefits of moderation or abstinence.

There’s something deeply hopeful about this story. For years we have labelled Gen Z the most anxious generation in history. And yet, in their rejection of alcohol, they are showing extraordinary resilience and clarity. They’re rewriting what it means to be young in Australia: less about hangovers and regret, more about agency, authenticity, and mental health.  That’s not boring. That’s brave.  So let’s drop the outdated stereotypes about “kids these days” and recognise what’s really happening. A generation is quietly staging one of the most radical health revolutions of our time. They’re not losing out on fun. They’re gaining freedom. And for once, it’s the adults who could stand to follow their lead.