In second grade, my class took a test. My teacher didn’t tell us what it was for, she just told us to take it and we did. I remember looking at shapes, patterns, number sequences, and puzzles and not understanding any of it. I took the test, they scored the test, and in third grade, I was placed into a program that my school district called SEAGUL. At eight years old, they determined that I was “gifted and talented” enough to be taken out of my regular classroom and put into another for one day out of the week. I didn’t know why they thought I was so special, but I knew I wanted to prove them right. I had to.
They told me I was gifted. Obviously, I thought, I must have been born with a gift. I’m not sure what my gift is, yet, but I’m sure I’ll find out and it’ll be amazing. In SEAGUL, I’m learning about all of these cool things like Bigfoot, the Lizard Man, and the Lochness Monster. I’m doing projects and learning so much, but something is off. I feel like I’m falling behind. Am I missing something? They must have made a mistake. Why am I in here? What are we doing? Why do they all know more than me? I want to be here, but I don’t think I belong here. I don’t think I have the gift they think I do.
In high school, I took honors and AP classes because my guidance counselor said I should. I enjoyed the challenge and I did well in the classes, but I still didn’t feel like I was doing enough. Why, when I spend so much time trying to ace my classes, can my classmates ace tests and play sports and join clubs and play instruments? How do they do it all? Wasn’t I supposed to be gifted? I thought that sort of stuff would come naturally to me, but it never did. I never felt good enough. I never found my gift.
Growing up, I felt so alone in this experience— until I heard others speak out. In the past few years, the phrase “gifted kid burnout” has been floating around the internet as a way to identify part of the struggle I experienced. So many kids like me were labeled gifted and suffered from the same overwhelming exhaustion it took to try to be perfect at everything we did. The problem with this is that perfection is unattainable and the stress that comes with trying to achieve it is unbearable. Since we’re older now, many of us have been able to reflect on how that experience affected us mentally. Being told constantly by your teachers, parents, friends, and family that you’re smart might sound desirable, but my experience is far from it.
When everyone in your life gets so used to telling you that you’re smart, it becomes your responsibility to live up to their expectations. I never felt like I was meeting anyone’s expectations no matter what I did, so I always felt like a disappointment. Knowing that I am not the only one who went through, I worry for the kids who are entering or currently going through this process. I want them to know that they don’t owe it to anyone to be perfect or smart or talented. They deserve to figure out who they are without basing their existence on a label.
Thankfully, the future of education and parenting are shifting toward more effort-based praise. Instead of hearing, “You’re so smart,” kids will hear, “You’re so hardworking.” Instead of hearing, “Wow, you’re a natural,” they will hear “Wow, that took a lot of effort.” Kids have the potential to grow as long as you teach them that they can. Once it is implied that a child is born with some inherent ability, they struggle to understand why they should have to work for something. Programs like SEAGUL mean well in providing a challenge to students who benefit from a more rigorous curriculum, but they are unintentionally creating groups of anxious perfectionists as well as a division between “gifted” children and the rest of the student body. If the phrase “gifted and talented” were removed from the programs and from accepted educational jargon, students would better benefit from these programs.