In honor of women’s history month, I thought we would talk about something we TRULY do not talk about often, the pressure of failing.
College is marketed as a place to learn. A place where you experiment, try new things, stumble, and figure yourself out along the way. But at Stevens, especially in engineering, failure doesn’t feel like part of the process. It feels like a personal flaw.
The pressure to prove yourself never stops. If you don’t show up with a smile, you’re “rude.” If you do speak up, you’re “difficult.” If you don’t respond to a group message the second it comes in, you’re “lazy,” even if you’re the one quietly holding the group together. The bar isn’t just high here; it’s constantly shifting higher and higher, and somehow, we’re always one step away from being judged.
And then there’s the paradox: the more you achieve, the more unforgiving people become when you slip. Forgetting to upload a DuckLink flyer shouldn’t be catastrophic, but when you’re known for excelling, even the tiniest mistake gets magnified. Suddenly, it isn’t about one missed deadline — it’s a narrative about you as a person. That constant surveillance makes failure feel dangerous, even when it’s something as small as an email sent late or a deliverable turned in a day behind.
It’s no wonder so many of us are afraid of failing. It doesn’t feel private. It feels like a spotlight is on you, and everyone is waiting to see if you’ll stumble. Failure here isn’t treated like growth; it’s treated like weakness. And if you’re a woman, a first-gen student, or someone who already feels like you’re being measured differently, that fear is even sharper.
But here’s the thing: this culture isn’t sustainable. Failure has to be part of the process — not a threat hanging over us, but a step we’re allowed to take without it costing our worth. We need space to be human, not just flawless students.
At Stevens, we pride ourselves on solving systems. We model complexity, we calculate risk, and we optimize performance. But the one variable we keep forgetting to account for is grace — the grace to fail, and to learn from it. Maybe it’s time we build that in.
And to be clear: I don’t expect the men to always give us that grace. But I do expect it from the women who know exactly what this feels like. So screw the judgy eyes. Screw the whispered comments behind people’s backs. If you’ve got something to say, say it. Start a conversation. Make this environment tolerable for all of us.
Because failure shouldn’t feel like a character flaw. It should feel like part of learning — and part of being human.