I was lucky enough to go home over Memorial Day weekend so I could visit my grandmother for her 91st birthday. As I was chatting with various family members during the celebratory dinner, I mentioned that I had scaled back my classes this quarter and dropped one of my extracurricular activities. When prompted with the inevitable “Why?”, I replied that I hadn’t really had my life together during fall quarter, and that I had needed to take a break from a few things.
My mom overheard me say this and jumped in: “What are you talking about? You got all A’s last quarter! You were doing fine; you were doing great!” To which my face did precisely this:
I was honestly shocked to hear her say this. Wasn’t she the one whom I had cried to over the phone last quarter? The one who had recommended that I see someone for my anxiety? The one who, in combination with my dad, convinced me to take way fewer units than my usual amount this winter quarter for the sake of getting my life back together?
I laughed it off in the moment, but that comment stayed with me for a few days after. She had cited my grades as the symbol of my well-being. Surely, if I was able to get good grades, then I was thriving in college. Right?
Wrong. I was exhausted last quarter. My anxiety had been steadily growing for two years, and I was just plain tired of worrying all the time. I saw a few therapists in the town around my school in November, and decided to see one of them regularly. I didn’t start regular sessions until after winter break, and looking back, I wish I had sought help sooner.
The lesson I learned from that comment was this: my grades do not define me. I know it seems pretty obvious, but I think a lot of people learn this lesson when it’s the other way around. They have average to poor grades, but they’re great people who still deserve good things in the world. It was a serious wake-up call for me to realize for the first time in my life that my good grades did not equate to my well-being and success as a person.
In fact, my grades were probably good because I have anxiety, and I compulsively complete my readings and study for my midterms days in advance. But I’ve now realized just how unrealistic it is to have my academics act as a thermometer for my well-being. On paper, I was thriving. In reality, it was a miracle when I had enough energy to make myself a snack while I read for my classes.
I am so grateful to my family for their love and support throughout these past few months. They care so deeply about me, and sometimes it just shows in interesting ways. I’m pretty sure my mom meant that comment in an encouraging, “Hey, you weren’t so far off track last quarter!” kind of way, but it meant something much deeper in my mind. In all honesty, hearing that comment and thinking about what it meant to me has opened my eyes to how I should be looking at my life. And they didn’t teach me that in a classroom; it’s a lesson I had to learn on my own, and I’m so glad I learned it.