Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t been such an overachiever growing up.
Perhaps, if I hadn’t excelled during junior high school, there might have been less pressure and expectations for me to graduate college with flying colors. I could have blossomed into a normal teenager without fighting desperately to break free when my parents sent me to Manila for senior high school. If I hadn’t pushed myself too hard in my studies, the weight of expectations would have been more bearable. I wonder; I always do.
At home, normalcy equates to being exceptional. Perfection is the norm. What’s not deemed normal? Making even five mistakes on a Math quiz after dedicating an entire week to studying, as if the time I allocated wasn’t enough to prevent those errors. Looking back, I realize I should have invested more time practicing old tests and reviewing materials I created, rather than giving myself a break.
That lifestyle marked an era.
I comprehend the emotions stirring within me, yet the reasons remain elusive. Puzzled at moments when I wished I could revert to being that same person. But, I’m also perplexed by the liberating sensation of being someone who accepts irrational errors, embarrassing blunders, and numerous academic faux pas. That’s when it hit me—maybe this is what gifted child burnout syndrome feels like.
I went to Manila with a background of being a leader and a stellar student, anticipating an Americanized movie-coded, “Like what? It’s hard?” moment waiting to be a reality. Sure, it was fun and worthwhile, but damn, indeed, it was hard. Life wasn’t adorned with shades of pink, as I was clothed with breakdowns. Yet, intermittent breakthroughs still pulled through—nothing big, merely a modest deviation as per the normalcy I’m used to. Barely passing, just struggling to get through the term. In that moment of reckoning, I realized that maybe I’m not gifted. What if I’m just used to being in a small pond, where I was the biggest fish because everyone else was just … a fish?
I now wonder what others would think of me: “Maybe her future is not as bright as it ought to be?” Or maybe I’m so fond of excelling that I equate it solely to academic achievements, but there’s more to life than medals and awards. Oh, come on! Is this coming from the girl who, after a decade-long stay at her previous school, is no longer graced with awards, despite once collecting more than 10 with ease?
Everything has changed. I have, too.
As I sit on the benches of Andrew building, writing my final reflection paper, I find myself confronted with a bitter truth:
“As an overachiever, this is a very hard pill to swallow: I’m failing, I’m fighting, and it’s beyond words to explain how tiring. Yet, here I am, motivated by a purpose that, even now, may not be entirely comprehensible; I know in the future, it will be. For sure, if BSA made me into something, that is to thrive in discomfort.”
Although I would feel a gap in my knowledge and ability among my peers, I still fight with all I am, along with my trusty Muji pen and endless sheets of a columnar pad.
Maybe, being a burnt-out gifted child is just an online myth, as we continually evolve into versions of ourselves aligned with our unique timelines. The normalcy I’ve known might be attributed to well-intentioned first-time parenting, driven by the desire for my best. They had already pulled off their expectations. As long as I get my diploma and professional license, they would be the happiest, so they say.
We have been the person we were before, complete with our regrets and mistakes, and we can’t rewrite them anymore. We slumber through it with memories, seeking solace in redemption that tomorrow is a start for brighter beginnings. Triumphs and failures coexist, but repeated failure doesn’t make us less of a person. If anything, it’s a win to be self-aware and highly accountable for our actions, fostering continuous growth. The impending future shouldn’t be scaring us, and neither should the expectations of others. Life unfolds at its own pace, and we will find our definition of normalcy and success in our own time, in God’s time.
Thriving in discomfort is challenging; believe me, it’s a sentiment I am too familiar with. Perhaps, we’ve yet to find the right place and opportune time to flourish. And while we’re at it, let’s enjoy the little things we have and seize opportunities. Our time will come soon, too. We will restore the gleam and glamor of medals and trophies, albeit in a different context.
Our generation, we’re not the regulars, aren’t we?
Mika Gonzales, 21, can’t pick between “living for the thrill of it” and “to live for the hope of it all.” Maybe both.