When I was younger, my parents put me in a soccer league. My dad had played semi-professionally before he busted his leg, my mom had coached, and my brother was awesome at it, so naturally, I was placed in a soccer league. We quickly found out that sports was not my thing. I hated running so I didn't do it. In the middle of games, I would literally sit on the field and pick dandelions. It was a disaster. We also quickly found out that I am tone-deaf and pretty bad at anything musical. So, what do I have to offer? I'm smart. I'm good at school. I've always excelled in the classroom, going far beyond what was expected of me at every grade level. I found my niche in the school.
When I was in fifth grade, we had a "strikes" program. For every homework assignment you missed, you would get a strike. At three strikes, there would be small penalties and then it added for each one. If you managed to make it through the year with no strikes whatsoever, you got to go to a special pizza party. I've always loved food and I'm good at school so I thought, "Hey, this is awesome! Something I can actually win!" This turned into incredible anxiety for ten-year-old me. I remember countless nights spent lying awake re-thinking every moment of the school day, trying to make sure I remembered every homework assignment. I would watch the clock turn to 3AM and lie in bed crying and feeling sick to my stomach about missing something. I would check and re-check my assignment book and wake my parents up asking them to help me remember if there was any homework. It was terrible. I have never struggled with anxiety as much as I did that year.
I ended up making it the whole year without any strikes, and I went to the pizza party at a bowling alley. I remember sitting there thinking, "This wasn't worth it." Even then, I knew that this was becoming a serious problem. I wish I hadn't won that year. That pizza party taught me that perfectionism gets rewarded. If you never miss a single assignment, if you turn everything in ahead of time, if you get straight A's, you get rewarded. I found my identity in this. I was smart. I was good at school.
My brother struggles with learning disabilities. Growing up, I hated the school system for the way it failed him and allowed me to excel. It never seemed fair that our report cards would become a defining statement of our worth. Mine always had A's, while he struggled to pass classes. It wasn't fair. It wasn't okay that I never seemed to measure up to the ridiculous standards I held for myself.
The first paper I turned in in college got a 96%. I looked at that grade and I was disappointed. I lost sleep over it. That four percent destroyed me. I looked over the comments over and over again, vowing to never make the same mistakes again.
Throughout college, I have always done fairly well. I have managed to get all A's except for one B every semester. You'd think I'd be happy with this. You'd think I'd look at my grade card and feel pride in knowing that I'm doing well. If I'm being completely honest and vulnerable with you, I have never once looked at a grade card during my three years here and felt anything but complete disappointment. B's make me feel stupid. I am smart, that's what I have going for me. I should be able to pull of straight A's.
As I start my last semester, I have already spent a good amount of time pouring over every syllabus, trying to find a way to get my 4.0 this semester. I have found out that if I get a 4.0 this semester, I will be able to graduate with a 3.8. I tell myself that this will make me happy, but I know the truth. I will NEVER feel good enough as long as my worth is defined by a percentage. There will always be room for improvement, I will always fall short of perfection.
God has really been working in me for this last semester. I've dismissed it as senioritis or just being done caring about school, but that's not me. I do my papers weeks before they're due. I have never procrastinated anything before, and this semester, I find myself not caring quite as much. But this is still a journey. This is still going to be hard for me to work on this semester. So I ask you to join me. Pray for me, if you remember. If I start talking to you about the stress of school and making sure my grades are perfect, remind me that my worth is not determined by a grade. I am not a letter. I am not a percentage. I am a child of God. I am good enough in that.
So, here it goes. My last semester. I wish I could say that I don't care what grades I get this semester. I wish I could tell you I'm done aiming for that 4.0. I'm not. But I'm working on it. I'm slowly letting go of letting those marks define me. And I think that, in the end, if I am able (which I am because I have God and He's fricken awesome, let's be honest) to let go of this perfectionism and find peace in wherever my grades fall, I will be ten times more proud of myself than I would be with a 4.0.
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