Summer break is near and with only about five weeks left of school, I’m busy anticipating trips to the beach and excursions with friends. However, not all my thoughts include sun tans; the end of my freshman year also marks the beginning of a daunting new fear: sophomore year. 

Lately, I’ve noticed a recurring theme of hesitance toward the next three years of high school in conversations among my fellow freshmen. We’re soon to be finished with what many students have told me is academically the “easiest year” in high school, and yet I already feel like I’m falling behind. 

Perfectionism has always been familiar to me. As I get older, I’m finding it more and more difficult to manifest that concept of a “perfect student.” We’re all in the same fight to achieve a number, but for many of us, fixating on GPA also means losing joy in learning. 

Throughout elementary school, and some of middle school, I’d been praised for earning high grades and scoring well on tests. I was considered the “smart friend” and kids came to me to ask how to spell words and do long division problems. By the time I joined an “accelerated math” group in fifth grade, being smart was already ingrained as a main part of my identity. Watching TV characters such as Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Rory from Gilmore Girls convinced me that intelligence was supposed to manifest effortlessly. I strived to emulate their inborn talents and cleverness with ease which, in the long run, turned out to be unrealistic. Of course, it felt good to be complimented, but over time the extra credit I earned felt more like a standard that was set for me rather than an accomplishment. The presence of these high standards made me feel like I was falling behind academically, even though looking back, I was exactly where I needed to be.

The blame for this kind of mindset is commonly placed on parents who have unrealistic standards and put too much importance on academic achievements. However, I could never blame my parents for my perfectionism. My mother prided herself in not being a “tiger parent” and was far from unsupportive and harsh. In elementary school, the first signs of my perfectionism appeared in how much longer it took me to complete assignments compared to my classmates. I moved extra slowly to avoid mistakes in arts and crafts. I also gradually stopped raising my hand because I believed my “smart kid” image would be ruined by a wrong answer. My mother noticed that I’d slowly stopped participating in class and reminded me daily before school, “Don’t be perfect!”

Despite all this, I barely held in tears when I forgot to submit my homework once in second grade. My teacher sent me home with a note that day for my parents to sign. My mother signed it in dark blue ink and drew little smiles and stars around her initials. Even in spite of her efforts to comfort me, I was embarrassed and spent the next hour layering whiteout onto the blue ink and making photocopies to erase any evidence that the stars were there. 

Truthfully, I don’t think there’s any way to definitively pinpoint where exactly my perfectionism came from, but it was born somewhere in my childhood and hurts me still in high school. For the longest time, I hardly had to study, but now that classes are much harder, I don’t know how to study and lose focus easily at my desk.

The six or seven years I spent at the top of my class definitely didn’t prepare me for the  competitive atmosphere in Westview. My old mindset of “if I pay attention in class and do my homework, it’ll be enough to be the best” has let me down in too many math tests. 

Realistically, I’m not failing my classes; if I’m honest with myself, I’m not too far behind in any of them. I was gripping onto the feeling of being “perfect” and my current process of letting go can feel like a failure, or like giving up. I’m not giving up, but constantly reminding myself to accept my imperfections. 

Fortunately, as I get older, I’m growing accustomed to not being the smartest person in the room. I’ve turned to tutors to boost my grades in math tests and accepted that making mistakes is an essential step toward growth. Learning how to study and ask for help is a newer obstacle that I’m willing to face again in my sophomore year.