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Growing up, I often felt like I had to be perfect. It wasn’t necessarily the kind of pressure that was explicitly stated, but it was there, hovering over every interaction, especially when it came to grades. Conversations with my dad often centered around being the best and having the most. There was an unspoken rule: failure was not an option. Mistakes were met with the kind of disapproval that made me feel like they were personal failures, not just missteps on a learning journey.
School, in particular, was tough. The pressure I placed on myself, combined with the external pressure I felt, became overwhelming. My brain often operated in what I now recognize as fear and survival mode. Rather than developing a healthy set of executive function skills like planning, organization, or time management, I was constantly in "fight or flight." Instead of focusing on learning, I was focused on not failing. Unfortunately, that strategy didn't work out too well for me.
I fell behind. I wasn’t dumb, but the combination of anxiety, fear, and lack of strategies meant I often couldn’t keep up with the other kids. They seemed to glide effortlessly through both the social and academic expectations of childhood, while I was left feeling like I was stuck in quicksand, each day pulling me deeper. With every assignment, test, or report card, I felt my worth being determined by the grades I received. And more often than not, those grades weren’t great.
The poor grades weren't just disappointing; they became suffocating. Instead of recognizing them as a reflection of a need for more support or a different approach, I saw them as a reflection of my value as a person. In my mind, I was those grades. Each "C" or "D" felt like a confirmation that I was failing not just academically, but as a human being. It was a crushing weight, and by the time I hit middle school, I had internalized the idea that I was just not good enough.
This kind of pressure is unsustainable. Over time, it broke me down. I didn’t see a way out of the cycle of trying, failing, and feeling worthless. The anxiety was overwhelming, and eventually, I just shut down. It wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore; it was that caring hurt too much. I often asked myself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I figure this out?” The more I spiraled, the harder it became to see any way forward. My confidence was shattered.
Then, in 10th grade, something changed. My history teacher saw something in me that I hadn’t been able to see in myself for years. He didn’t just teach me history; he taught me how to study and how to believe in myself. I remember him pulling me aside after class one day, saying that he believed I could do better, that I was better than my grades reflected. He gave me study techniques, showed me how to organize my thoughts, and encouraged me in a way I hadn’t experienced before. Slowly, things began to shift.
That year, I went from a “D” to a “B” in history. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt proud of myself. It wasn’t just about the grade—it was about the process. I had worked for that B, and the feeling of achievement was like a breath of fresh air after years of suffocating under the weight of perfectionism. It gave me a glimpse of what learning could feel like without the pressure of perfection hanging over my head. I wasn’t the sum of my grades. I was capable.
Looking back, I often wonder how much of the pressure I put on myself came from the external expectations around me, and how much came from within. As a parent now, I reflect on my own children’s experiences with grades and academic expectations. Sometimes, I worry that I don’t emphasize the importance of grades enough. Other times, I worry that I might be putting too much pressure on them, repeating the cycle I grew up in.
There’s a delicate balance. On one hand, grades matter. They’re an indicator of how well a child is absorbing and applying information. But on the other hand, they’re just one indicator and they don't tell the whole story. I hope that my children are able to develop a healthier relationship with their grades than I did. I hope they see them as a reflection of where they are in their learning process—not a definition of who they are as people.
More than anything, I want my kids to know that they are allowed to make mistakes. Mistakes are how we grow, and I didn’t learn that until much later in life. I want them to understand that their worth isn’t tied to a report card, and that perfection is not the goal. Learning, growth, and resilience—that’s what really matters.
As I navigate this with my own children, I remind myself often: grades are important, but they’re not everything. And I hope that’s the lesson I can pass on to them.