“I’m only seventeen, I don’t know anything”
Every year, I can be found sitting at my desk when I hear, “Isabella, can you please talk to me after class?” and my mind instantly begins to whir. Did I forget to turn in my homework? Did I accidentally talk too loud during class? What could I have possibly done wrong?
I smile and say yes, internally panicking, and sit there, staring at the clock, watching as the minutes dwindle before my inevitable doom. Every mistake I have ever made runs through my brain like on an old fashioned movie screen.
Some may say I am dramatic, but for a 17-year-old who cares more about school than anything else, those daunting words mean that something is not right, I have made a mistake and all of my hard work is going to come crashing down around me.
By the time class ends and I have cautiously made my way to the teacher’s desk, I notice that they look worried, their brow is furrowed and they invite me to sit. “Isabella, I wanted to have a talk with you about how long you have been spending on assignments and about how much energy you are putting into class,” they say.
My smile drops; I know where this is going. “You are spending entirely too much time on every assignment; you are putting in too much effort if there is such a thing. I am worried about you. You are a teenager, school should not be everything. You need to have a life outside of class and spend time with your family and friends,” they say.
I have had this conversation eight times since starting high school. I’ve counted. I genuinely understand where the concern is coming from. I appreciate that my teachers worry about me and I feel valued knowing they have an interest in my welfare. It feels good to be recognized for the dedication I put into each class.
However, when they request that I step back from my hyper-intense work ethic, I have to look them in the eye and tell them no, it is impossible. There is nothing I can do to change the amount of time I spend on assignments. Any previous attempts have made me feel so unbelievably guilty that I feel physically ill. It feels like I am selling myself short, and if I purposely choose to not do my best, I feel lazy and irresponsible.
Many of my teachers and classmates have concluded that my academic anxiety is derived from parents who set impossible expectations and base my worth on my GPA. This is incorrect. I am lucky to have parents who are proud of me as long as I have tried. In fact, my mom frequently says she would be happy if I got a “B,” to prove it is not the end of the world. I wish I had this mindset, but I have reached the point where anything less than 90 percent seems criminal.
I pride myself on my ambition and perfectionism, I think it is what makes me, me. But sometimes I wish there was a way to quiet that little voice inside my head, whispering “just study one more hour.” At least it will help me get into college! That is if I haven’t burnt out already.
