When I was young, I would often get stomach aches every morning before going to school.
My parents would take me to doctors, and they would never quite figure out what was wrong. However, the large pit in my stomach would drop further whenever I thought about the pressures of my academic life.
I can still my grade six Social Studies test—the one with the daunting big red 60 per cent in the corner of the paper that required my parents’ signature. What I the most, however, wasn’t the test itself but numerous hours spent studying for the next test and the three hours it took to write a test that was supposed to take 50 minutes, all to ensure I came home with a big red 100 per cent.
At the beginning, bringing home a perfect score made me feel elated. The smiley faced stickers on tests, and the praise teachers would award me after class made the hundreds of hours focusing on my perfection worth it.
However, in high school, my motivation changed. I stopped working for myself and began to work for others. The peers I originally saw as my teammates were now my competition for spots in prestigious university programs. I needed those around me to know about the grades that were bringing me to the top of my class, and I no longer felt satisfaction from simply being proud of myself. I needed verbal validation from everyone around me—whether they were my peers, family, or teachers.
Witnessing my relatives’ faces light up when I showed them my latest grade became my new source of motivation. When glowing reviews at parent-teacher conferences became my personal Christmas, a single negative comment could overshadow weeks of positive validation. I’d work myself to the bone until that criticism no longer applied.
Anything less than perfection became unacceptable in my view. I became convinced my teachers, peers, and family would no longer see me as adequate if I didn’t live up to the impossible standards I placed on myself.
My self-worth was no longer attributed to my kindness, humour, or other attributes. In my mind, I was worth the number of my latest grade, and pushed myself to extreme lengths to be the best.
Instead of reading my beloved fantasy books, I read Pride and Prejudice just so people would tell me I was “so smart for reading that.” My love of learning was replaced by a pursuit of good grades, sucking the marrow right out of my bones. Instead of writing assignments on topics I was interested in, I elected to choose topics and take stances I knew my teachers were interested in, all to get the best grade in the class.
I fell into a deep downward spiral where I couldn’t find enjoyment, and working to be perfect took up every ounce of my energy.
I was no longer able to start assignments. Whenever I would try, a fear of creating imperfection consumed me. I found it easier to lie in my bed than motivate myself to work or find pleasure in life. I felt as if I was both a failure and nothing if I wasn’t considered smart by others around me.
I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression by the end of grade nine, with much of it stemming from school. While my diagnosis didn’t fix the problem, it helped me understand my imperfections and the amount of pressure I put on myself wasn’t solely my fault and simply how I was programmed. It helped my friends and family understand I wasn’t just lazy or constantly nervous, but instead had an issue.
The learning environment I once cherished and motivated me turned into the reason I didn’t want to get out of bed with my lack of motivation causing a slip in my grades, making my depression worse. My constant anxiety over school left me so exhausted I had no choice but to take the weekends to recover.
Eventually, I learned no matter how tired I was, I would have to force myself to hang out with friends for my own wellbeing and happiness. I found that when I surrounded myself with people who made me happy, even if it was at times tiring, helped my mental health. Forcing myself out of my comfort zone gave me some of the best friendships and memories.
The bonds I forged with friends slowly made my life better and showed me there is more to life than school and getting good grades.
While I still wasn’t perfect and was actively dealing with both depression and anxiety, my life began to improve with every late-night phone call and hangout with my closest friends.
On top of dealing with my mental health, COVID-19 started. Originally, I saw the pandemic as incredibly anxiety provoking and prepared for the worst with my mental health. I hated the absence of human connection in my day-to-day life that took the pressure off school, and I was scared attending classes in front of a screen would exacerbate my anxiety.
Despite my initial fears, the early days of the pandemic came with some blessings for me that ultimately saved my mental health. I spent dinners and evenings with my family playing cards and watching movies, which brought me closer than ever to my parents. I formed a new group of friends through countless late night phone calls with people who ed me all throughout high school and helped me manage my mental health.
Slowly, my life had priorities that weren’t school, and I had a good group of friends and family who’d reassure me even after getting the inevitable bad grade. While my academic standards remained high, I now had a system to lean on when I fell short of my expectations.
The focus of my high school graduation wasn’t my high marks or awards but the cheering section that was around me when I walked across the stage to receive my diploma.
When I arrived at Queen’s in the fall, I understood I would have to get used to receiving lower grades. As a small fish in a bigger pond, my A+ average was no longer possible. But I understood I had a network of people to depend on. My tears were no longer something I had to deal with alone.
After my first couple university assignments, I found myself practically in tears while talking to my closest friends and parents, but their reassurance that I was more than a grade kept me out of the depression spiral I would have fallen into without them.
The academic rigor I’ve faced at Queen’s has helped me grow incredibly as a student. Being taught by some of the best professors in the country and with my peers being at the top of their respective classes means I’m more challenged than ever, all while expanding my academic skills. The intellectual progress I’ve experienced has made the transition worth it.
At the end of the day, the systems that you grow are more important than any grade or evaluation of worth you will receive.
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