When I tell people I went to high school on the Upper East Side, I usually get told, “You’re the real-life Blair Waldorf.” I normally just chuckle, not daring to share the real truth.
First and foremost, the idea of high school being the best four years of our lives needs to be debunked. The same applies to college. The best years of our lives are the ones we choose; the ones the universe specifically plans for them to be. Allocating a set and stone time for when we experience joy is unreasonable. Everyone’s experience is different.
On that note, everyone’s experience of the worst years of their lives also varies, mine being high school. I went to an all-girls Catholic school with 65 students in each grade. Everyone knew each other by first and last name, what their parents did for a living, and which boy they were dating.
That wasn’t even the worst of it.
I had to maintain the academically rigorous reputation of my school, which sent its students to some of the top universities. So, I dedicated all my time to academics, studying like my life depended on it… because it did.
Even with all that hard work, I still struggled. It didn’t help that in the hallway, there was a list with all the students who made it on the Dean’s List. Inevitably, the comparison began. I’d compare myself to every single person on that list and make myself feel awful. There’d always be someone smarter than me, someone who’d get better grades than me, I’d think. It was self-sabotage at its finest. I would never be among my classmates who’d call NYU their safety school.
Presumably, high school completely demolished me as a student. The bright-eyed, inquisitive student I once was had never felt so dumb and useless in her entire life. I rarely raised my hand in class. I was too scared of being wrong, too embarrassed to offer my opinion.
Then came the anxiety. What began as sleepless nights turned into nausea because of nerves. I vomited as soon as I woke up, and vomited in the bathroom right before a test. It got to the point where I’d be throwing up saliva, just out of habit.
The pressure to score well on every test was unbearable. The pressure to get into a top college ate me alive.
And how could it not? When my classmates began committing to college, some girls would constantly refresh the Instagram decisions page, take screenshots, and send them to group chats, analyzing every person’s decision. I overheard conversations of judgment towards my classmates’ decisions. Some would even look down upon a student if she’d committed to a “bad” school, or they’d argue she didn’t deserve to be accepted if it was too “good” a school.
Undoubtedly, I was terrified for my own fate. The saddest part was that I didn’t care about going to college for the purpose of receiving an education. I cared about the external validation. I’d told my guidance counselor I was interested in Boston University, only for her to tell me, “Don’t even bother. It’s a reach.” Without a sliver of shame, she assured me I wouldn’t be accepted.
I cried, and I cried.
Yet, it was my best friend who told me to ignore the harsh remarks and apply anyway. So I did. And boy, did I prove my guidance counselor wrong.
Fast forward to the (almost) midway mark of my sophomore year of college at BU, and I’ve become the best, most confident version of myself. I’ve grown and changed so much for the better.
I have become indestructible, to say the least. Nothing fazes me. A final worth 40% of my grade? A class presentation? No anxiety, no nerves, no nausea, no negative emotions. Only calmness. I can sleep just fine. When I wake up, there is no impending sense of doom. I get ready for the day and eat a huge breakfast before walking to class. I sit still in the chair, without my leg bobbing up and down.
I’ve found a healthy balance between myself and academics. I allocate time for studying while also taking care of my mental and physical health. When I receive good grades, they feel so much more rewarding knowing I earned them the right way.
And if I get a bad grade? No tears, no mental breakdowns, because it’s really not the end of the world.
Above all, I don’t compare myself to others. I’m not dumb or stupid. Because no one is stupid compared to someone else. You are smart, on your own, without comparison. If a classmate gets a better grade than I did, who cares? I’m happy for them! Remember, someone else’s success does not undermine your own.
Finally, none of my actions seek external validation. Everything that I do is for myself only. Now that I’m in this mindset, I’ve realized that literally no one cares, so why should I care how I appear to others? It’s so comforting walking among tens of thousands of students who don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who they are.
It’s true what they say: Your body will reject what isn’t meant for you.
But hey, now that I’ve left those dark times in the past, I am finally letting in what is meant for me.
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