I am probably overreacting, but I was honestly hesitant to write about something as painfully dry as academics. Not because it lacks substance, no, but because I dread being labeled as that academic diva, an APA format fanatic, even though I, embarrassingly enough, worship smart girls.
I pretend this is a secret, but I want to seem free, effortless, and unbothered—the kind of woman who turns assignments in like it’s nothing, like she barely noticed the deadline, as if her paper magically wrote itself. But the truth? I try. I try hard. I finesse every sentence, sweat on every paragraph, and overthink the commas. And then I proceed to preach my favorite gospel: “Grades are just numbers,” acting like hormones aren’t in panic.
I can’t fool anyone here, not even myself, as I embarrassingly confess, head down, to the performance of indifference, putting on a calm costume as if these grades aren’t the culprit of my semestral academic saga of internal screaming. So okay, yes, I refuse to look like I care, but I do, maybe a little too much. Though these efforts are sometimes commendable, I find myself questioning whether they are truly something I am proud of.
It is and will always be true when I say recognition feels amazing. But it is also, in the most consuming way, very terrifyingly addictive. There’s a specific kind of fear that comes with realizing how much you’ve come to starve that recognition. It’s a love-hate relationship, evidenced in how I start to despise how easily I grin when grades are good. While enjoying the product of hard work is, I believe, not at all wrong, I hate how quickly my internal tantrums fire off over a low grade, not necessarily driven by what I think is unfairness, but because somewhere along the way, academic validation has been stapled to my personal value and now my sense of worth flinches at the tiniest threat.
To prove I’m worth something, not even to myself, nor to my closest people, but to institutions that don’t even know me, is something I strongly resent.
I loathe to be defined by numbers, by a system that reduces me to a rank. A statistic. A GPA. A name on their list that they take credit for and parade only when we succeed elsewhere. I hate to find myself cornered, sometimes honestly self-propelled, to meet towering standards of institutions that don’t even attempt to understand each fragment of my personhood.
Isn't it irritating to apply for your achievements and beg for the approval of people who have never even truly met us, clueless of what we stand for, whose idea of “excellence” has no room for context, for individuality, for humanity?
I witnessed how the most genuine, grounded, community-centered people I know, pursuing something beyond excellence, are denied their merits, although it’s not something they yearn for or ask for. Compared to these credit-hungry institutions, and the self-proclaimed 'leaders' addicted to power and applause, the people, who lead with their heart, not ego, are the real standard to me.
This is not, however, a battle of academic humility. I do not wish to send the message that craving recognition makes a person any less worthy. Whether you listen silently at the back of the classroom, or are unafraid to be loud and ambitious, or you are someone who genuinely enjoys doing all the math and organizing your notion—you are doing great and please do own your achievements, because they are yours, and yours alone.
It’s an immensely disorganized relationship with academic validation, filled with doses of alternating resentment and serotonin, like I get the frustration and I get the joy. Sometimes I even feel proud when I gradually learn not to care about my standing. Moments of detachment, where I feel like a woman of freedom, bidding good riddance to the academic hierarchy.
But to not care at all? It is sometimes a privilege.
Detachment isn’t an option when we simply don't always have the luxury to think only of ourselves. Sometimes, it is not even about academic recognition, but about survival, maintaining that scholarship, and fulfilling family expectations. It’s also a privilege to be surrounded by people who don’t constantly demand excellence before they can offer you love and respect. I find myself rooting for people who have already learned to love all parts and versions of themselves, as well as those who are still learning to do so.
My course taught me the value of accomplishing things for yourself instead of chasing external approval. While I very much agree with how it offers personal stability, I believe it’s easier to say “Grades don’t define you” and “Do it for yourself” when you’re psychologically and materially equipped to put yourself first, and to have your survival less financially and emotionally dependent on the system.
I’m learning to accept the reason why I wrote this piece, and in doing so, I’m also learning that not all validation is bad, but not all of it is necessary, either. I’m trying to hold space for both truths: that it can feel good to be seen, and that I don’t want to be addicted to being seen.
And when that graduation day comes, as I realize that the long freak show is over, I won’t restrict me from feeling good about myself, not because I’ve chosen to please the system, but because I know I have tried and I know my worth is beyond what the system wants me to be.
*Apologies to Cinderella.
