A year ago last week, I curled up in the third floor of the library and cried.
I had taken Information Systems under the misguided assumption that it would become my major, and immediately hated the class. I picked a different major that I planned to switch to the following semester and then found an internship for the new major that required a second-year GPA of 3.9 to apply, and then resolved to get an A in every class until sophomore year to meet my goal.
But the Information Systems class didn’t cooperate.
I struggled through the weekly online quizzes–they were closed-book, despite having write-in questions that asked about specific sentences from the text. I became the only student my professor ever had who read the entire book, but I couldn’t bring myself to use internet resources during the quizzes and subsequently failed a few. It dragged my grade down, but as long as the final turned out well I could still get my A and increase my chances of qualifying for the internship.
I attended every class, took copious notes and went to the professor’s office hours every chance I got. I filled out the final study guide a week in advance, and knew the material well enough to correct the guide’s mistakes.
The day of the test, I felt completely relaxed; I had supposedly done everything right, and my grades in my other classes were great. I went to the quiet side of the law library, opened the online test, and felt my internship dreams come crashing down as I looked over the test.
It was essentially an extended version of the quizzes I’d struggled with: specific questions about obscure sentences over multiple chapters that I couldn’t reference because it was closed-book.
It took me over an hour to finish. The exam dragged down my overall grade, kept me off the Dean’s list and lowered my chances of qualifying for the internship.
I felt my confidence falling as the reality set in: I failed my last final of freshman year.
I failed my final, but I felt like I failed a lot more. I’d failed myself. I’d failed the people who believed in my ability to succeed. The stress and sleep deprivation of finals week got the best of me, and I failed to keep my composure.
I cried and texted a friend from the class. I vented about the grade, the class, the internship and how hard I tried.
He reminded me that a lot of people have tried a lot harder than me in classes worse than mine, and still failed the classes overall. I hadn’t gotten the grade I wanted, and I might have failed my personal goals, but I didn’t fail the class. Yes, he said, it’s a horrible feeling and he could sympathize with that, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
His response, although jarring at first, was exactly what I needed to hear.
I saw the grade in perspective with his example of students who complete four years of college, only to fail the final semester. I decided that if people can move on from that, I could move on from my final. I let go of the expectations I’d set for myself and ventured out of the library.
As the week went on, I realized most of my perceptions of failure were in my own head. I got sympathy from people who knew I’d failed, but otherwise, it just wasn’t that big of a deal. I ended up switching my major to something entirely different from the one I’d wanted the internship for, and while I still maintained a good GPA, I realized it was largely irrelevant to my success in college.
To anyone who recently failed a final, a class, or a semester: your value is not in your grades, your intelligence cannot be reduced to a number, and your success in life is not tied to any particular exam, class or semester.
You will be okay.Â