If you’ve spent five minutes near a middle schooler lately, you’ve heard them talking about "taking an L" or "getting ratio'd." To us, it sounds like gibberish. To them, it’s the scoreboard of social survival.

In the world of YouTube comments and Twitter/X threads, getting ratio'd happens when a reply to a post gets significantly more likes than the original post itself. It’s a public, numerical signal that your opinion is "wrong" or "trash."

Similarly, dropping an "L" (for Loss) in a chat is the digital equivalent of pointing and laughing in a crowded hallway.

The problem isn't the words themselves—it's that digital platforms turn empathy into a competitive sport. When kids are on Roblox or Fortnite, the goal is often to "own" the other person. Kindness feels "mid" (mediocre), while a savage roast gets the "W" (Win).

We aren't just teaching them to be "nice"; we're teaching them to resist the dopamine hit that comes from being publicly mean.

In person, if your kid says something mean, they see the other child’s face crumple. They feel that immediate, biological "oh no" moment. That’s empathy in action.

Online, that feedback loop is broken. When a kid posts a mean comment on a CapCut edit or roasts someone in a Discord server, they don’t see the tears. They see "Likes," "Fire emojis," and "LOLs" from their friends.

The "audience" rewards the cruelty, and the "victim" is just a username. This is why even "good kids" can act like absolute monsters in a Minecraft griefing session or a Snapchat group chat.

Learn more about the psychology of the "online disinhibition effect"

You can't just lecture a kid into being kind. You have to show them what empathy looks like in practice. Here are a few pieces of media that actually do the work without being "cringe" or preachy.

Ages 11+ This is a beautiful, low-stakes game where the only mechanic is writing anonymous, kind letters to real people and receiving them in return. There is no "winning," no "ratioing," and the moderation is top-tier. It's a perfect antidote to the toxicity of most social platforms.

Ages 7+ Created by the same people who made Journey, this game is designed around cooperation. You literally cannot progress effectively without helping others. It’s a gorgeous, peaceful alternative to the "every man for himself" vibe of Brawl Stars.

Ages 6+ While the first movie was about sadness, the sequel dives deep into anxiety and the "social self." It’s a fantastic conversation starter about why we sometimes act mean to others when we're feeling insecure about ourselves.

Ages 12+ If you have a middle or high schooler, watch this together. It manages to make moral philosophy and the concept of "being a good person" hilarious and high-stakes. It’s the best show for explaining that our actions have ripples, even if we don’t see them immediately.

Ages 8-12 If your child hasn't read this yet, it's mandatory. It tells the story of a boy with facial differences entering a mainstream school, but it tells it from multiple perspectives. It’s the literal definition of "walking in someone else's shoes."

Check out our full guide on cozy games that promote mental wellness

At this age, digital life is usually limited to PBS Kids or Toca Boca World.

This is when the slang starts. Skibidi Toilet jokes turn into "You're so Ohio" (which means weird/cringe).

This is the danger zone. Discord servers and TikTok comments are where kids "perform" for their peers.

By now, they’ve seen cancel culture in action.

When you catch your child being "unkind" online, their first defense will be: "We were just joking! It’s just banter!"

And here’s the thing: sometimes it is just banter. Digital culture among Gen Z and Gen Alpha is built on a layer of irony and "roasting" that can feel aggressive to parents.

How to tell the difference:

Ask our chatbot how to handle your child being the "aggressor" in a group chat

If you come at them with a "Cyberbullying is wrong" poster from 2005, they will tune you out before you finish the sentence.

Try these openers instead:

The goal is to be a curious observer, not a digital police officer. When they feel like you "get" the culture, they’re more likely to listen when you say, "Hey, that comment you left was a bit much. You’re better than that."

Digital kindness isn't about following a set of rules; it’s about maintaining a sense of humanity in a medium designed to strip it away. We can't keep our kids off these platforms forever, but we can give them the internal compass to navigate them.

The next time your kid mentions someone "taking an L," use it as a moment to check in. Empathy is a muscle—and in the digital world, it needs a serious workout.

Check out our guide on setting up Discord safety features