I vividly remember the end of fourth grade, when I spent half the day being tested on my cognitive abilities. In other words, if I was advanced for my age or not. Now, I didn’t know what was going on. I just remember the teacher pulling me aside and handing me a test. I filled it out and moved on. Two weeks later, I started being sent to a different class, where we did more interesting things. Rather than math and science, we did brain puzzles and debates. Rather than reading and writing, we did storytime and poetry. I was always told that I and the kids like me were the ‘smart kids’. Or, what our school called the ‘Step Up’ kids. 

As time progressed, I flew through school. Focusing on my friends and family, my enjoyment, and my pure spontaneity, my lack of hard work didn’t affect my grades at all. I passed middle school with straight A’s. With that, I was always able to define myself based on what my grades were. Conversely, when they were bad, I was bad. When they were good, I was good.

By the time my sophomore year came around, I felt used to the ebbs and flows of school. It kept me on my toes but was generally easy, and I could focus on other things simultaneously. However, I found myself being overwhelmed with a major workload not even two weeks into the semester. I spent hours a day on school, overworked myself to the fullest, and kept telling myself “it’ll be over soon”, “you can rest on the weekends”, “one more day”. I got a habit of telling myself I could catch a break as an excuse for me to keep working. Over time, it started to tragically weigh on me. 

Soon, it was just common practice to have panic attacks the night before a test. It was typical to struggle profusely to keep my head above water. To be quite honest with myself, I was suffering. I would reimagine my peers’ and counselor’s insinuations in my head as I contemplated lightening my workload. The idea that I won’t be considered ‘smart’ if I’m not taking the ‘smart’ classes. If I drop this class, I drop my community, my reputation, and my name. I was oblivious to my overreaction as I insisted that dropping this class would genuinely plan my downfall right before my eyes. 

“If you can’t understand this now, you can’t understand it ever.” 

I would tell myself, head in hands, trying desperately not to burst into tears.

I was overly harsh on myself, overly pessimistic towards my future, and I had absolutely no mercy or control. I was failing.

After my third AP Chemistry exam, I vividly remember looking at the test before me, reading the questions with answers so foreign to me despite my pleading studying. I took a deep breath and told myself, “I have a good work ethic.” I had to realize that I have been doing well, I just don’t fit this class. I dropped the class, I told myself I deserved better, and I moved on. I came to understand that my ‘class count’ or overall GPA doesn’t define me or my work ethic. I can safely tell myself that I am a good student. I’m a wonderful friend, an amazing peer, and an overwhelmingly talented individual. And despite it all, I’m still me.