{"componentChunkName":"component---src-templates-story-js","path":"/story/pressures-of-the-a-y/","result":{"pageContext":{"data":{"id":"-8be86377-c468-5b91-a54d-c2c38a2d57b8","authorFirstName":"Yvonne","storyTitle":"Pressures of the A","photo":{"asset":{"url":"https://cdn.sanity.io/images/nr9digz2/production/ee5e4dd58a8f96e0b47a9bc9648ba88a365920a5-800x533.jpg"}},"audio":{"asset":{"url":"https://cdn.sanity.io/files/nr9digz2/production/80c9fbf76ee48030b2924b249eaaab9c53aa84ee.mp3"}},"secondLanguageAudio":null,"school":{"name":"North Quincy High School","city":null,"location":"Massachusetts"},"tags":[],"_rawText":[{"_key":"f297bd3b8949","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"80371e4630190","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"Up until the 8th grade I had a perfectionist complex. I held myself to the highest standards. I strived to be academically perfect. I would belittle myself for making any mistakes. My best was never good enough for my expectations. I felt insignificant: any tiny errors I made, and any perceived setbacks I had were proof of my flaws."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"090e4cccc29f","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"3f89fa2f9c070","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"When grades were passed back, and everyone swarmed together asking “what did you get,” I remember the envy that would course through me if someone scored higher. I viewed it as a competition, and I saw myself as inferior to my peers. I let numbers decide my worth, my mental state, and my emotions."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"e8cb4d52ff83","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"93b2198c52550","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"I developed a strong sense of pride and ego. I grew up to be independent, only relying on myself. I absolutely refused to allow anyone to see me vulnerable. I was afraid of asking questions, because that would be admitting I couldn’t do it. The fear of failure haunted me, suffocated me, and controlled me."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"4126ec43e9f0","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"f0bcaf317caf0","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"In class when I knew the answer, I wouldn’t raise my hand, because the chance that I could be wrong was overwhelming. The only time I would speak was for my participation grade. During those occurrences, butterflies swarmed my stomach, my heartbeat pounded against my chest, and my hands grew sweaty. If I got the answer wrong it would further prove I was incompetent."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"afb9d386173a","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"61a19c045c110","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"In my 7th grade advanced Math class, I began to finally realize this mindset was unhealthy. It was the first class where I really struggled. The lessons and concepts confused me to no end, and it frustrated me when I looked around to see my peers understanding so easily. I would spend hours on the homework, staring at one question, trying to grasp it. By the time I finished, it would be 2 am, and I would be physically and mentally drained. This cycle repeated over and over, and my stress was at an all-time high. Even after all my effort I still would score below what I wanted for myself."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"c14d11b23b39","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"6599ef6e7b260","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"It was during one of my frequent late-night homework sessions, when Shawn Mendes’ “In My Blood” played in the background, and I was once again stuck staring at a math problem. It was 3 am, and the months of anxiety, stress, along with the burden of desperately wanting that A that finally got to me. I was tired of trying to obtain the unobtainable. I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply. I said to myself “Maybe I’m not good at Math.” In that moment I admitted to myself that I wasn’t perfect, and no matter how hard I try, perfection is unachievable."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"d5f12e048940","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"6aafc11534f50","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"I came to the realization that I wasn’t going to be good at everything. I shouldn’t pressure myself into advanced classes just for the label of being advanced, but rather I should pursue what pertains to my interests, skills, and what would make me the happiest. There were going to be areas where I would have a difficult time understanding. Undoubtedly there was going to be material where I have questions, and that’s perfectly ok. As long as I gave it my full effort, I could be happy with myself. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, but rather it makes you brave for being able to admit that you need it."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"74b9e815d017","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"222328e612510","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"Past the 7th grade I opted out of advanced math, and instead took honors. Honors matched my comprehension level, while also being challenging but not overwhelming. Slowly but surely, I began asking questions, and raising my hand to answer. Whereas before I was stressed to no end, now I’m more carefree. I allow myself to sit back and just relax."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"},{"_key":"e1c3d0453176","_type":"block","children":[{"_key":"a22fc96f651b0","_type":"span","marks":[],"text":"Although sometimes I still hesitate when I have a question, my past mindset clawing its way back into my head, but eventually I’m able to diminish those thoughts. I’ve grown as a person past that toxic mindset, and everyday I’m happier because of it. Now when I look at my grades, I can be satisfied with knowing that I tried my best."}],"markDefs":[],"style":"normal"}]}}},"staticQueryHashes":["3309388390","890781507"]}