How to turn your most aggravating student emails into a chance to spread joy

At the end of every semester, just after posting final grades, I receive a deluge of emails. The subject lines are always innocuous. “Quick question”, or “Grade clarification”. But inside is a familiar lament: I don’t understand why I didn’t get an A. I worked so hard. Can you check again? And again? Perhaps once more for good measure?

This year, the complaints came in thicker than usual. One student wrote to say that she’d received an A on the midterm and therefore couldn’t fathom how she’d earned a B in the course.

I explained that, unfortunately, she had received a D on the final.

She replied that this could not be correct because, as she reminded me, she’d had an A after the midterm.

I reiterated that midterm grades only represent her performance in the first half of the class.

She responded politely, earnestly, and with the persistence of a Roomba vacuum repeatedly bumping the same sofa leg, that she believed I had miscalculated her grade.

I sighed the sigh that every professor is familiar with and exerted all my willpower to maintain professionalism as I composed a response.

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Multiply this exchange by 30 and you have a sense of what my life is like in the week after the semester ends. I found myself dreading my inbox. And then I had an idea: every time I received an email complaining about a grade, I would send an unsolicited email to a student who wasn’t complaining to praise them about something they’d done well.

When the next complaint arrived, I wrote to a student I’d met with several times during the semester after she had done poorly on the midterm.

I wanted to let you know your score on the final improved by 15 percent over your midterm. I know you put in a lot of work. I’m really proud of what you accomplished.

When I turned back to the grade complaint, I was calmer, less defensive, less irritated, less inclined to read hostility where there was probably just anxiety. What, moments earlier, felt draining now felt manageable. The work was the same; my relationship to it wasn’t.  

After another lengthy exchange about why turning in an assignment three weeks after the deadline had led to a penalty, I sent a note to a quiet student whose final essay had genuinely impressed me:

Great job on that paper. I was impressed by the nuance and how you anticipated counterarguments.

Over time, something curious happened.  Not only did I not mind the grade complaints as much, I almost looked forward to them, not for their content, certainly, but because each one now triggered an opportunity to brighten someone else’s day. 

There was another unexpected benefit. My inbox, previously a battleground of politely (and not so politely) phrased grievances, began to fill with something else: replies from surprised students writing back to say thank you. 

Thank you for reaching out. It made my weekend!

Your note meant so much to me. 

I shared this email with my parents and, simply put, it added a ton of joy to the already festive holiday season.

Moreover, many of them had kind things to say in return. Instead of emails complaining about how unhappy students were with their grades, I started to get emails detailing how much students had enjoyed their experience in my class.

Your class and style of teaching was my favourite all semester.

Your course really sparked my passion for psychology, and I am trying to see if I can possibly add a psychology minor.

I wish I was on campus to say this to you in person (since I don’t really know if my words project the same way I want them to), but I cannot stress to you enough how much I grew to love learning in your class.

Their responses didn’t erase the complaints, nor did they restructure university grading. But they did something much more important: they reminded me why I do this job in the first place.

Behavioural scientists have long known that people systematically underestimate the impact of expressing gratitude or sincere praise. We assume it will feel awkward or insignificant. In reality, both senders and recipients of positive messages report significant emotional benefits. The mere act of articulating something kind lifts mood, increases connectedness, and sharpens our attention toward what’s going right instead of what’s going wrong.

This doesn’t eliminate the causes of stress. But it does change the psychological framing of those experiences from something we merely endure to an opportunity to make the world a better place. The practice costs nothing, is endlessly repeatable, and is shockingly powerful. 

As for my own semester, the grade complaints eventually tapered off. But I still get negative news, and I can still send positive notes whenever a bit of unpleasantness arrives in my inbox. My days are measurably better for it. The people I write to, I’m told, feel better, too.

And that, it turns out, was the unanticipated lesson I learned from the most aggravating week of my academic year: that unlike grades, joy isn’t constrained by your exam performance. You can always create more of it.

Danny Oppenheimer is professor jointly appointed in psychology and decision sciences at Carnegie Mellon University. He researches judgement, decision-making, metacognition, learning and causal reasoning, and applies his findings to domains such as charitable giving, consumer behaviour and how to trick students into buying him ice cream.

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