Don't Panic!

By Tanvi Mishra

South Windsor High School

There’s this very specific kind of panic that comes from realizing that you’re no longer the smartest person in the room. You see the grades dip first, so slight that you almost miss it. But you don’t. You watch the 98 turn to an 94, the 96 slipping to a tantalizing 92. And then, you see it. A giant, curvy B+ stares back at you till you cry.

And I know, grades aren’t supposed to measure your intellect. But that’s not an easy perspective to adopt when those numbers were all you used to measure yourself— and, unintentionally, others.

That reaction isn’t a reflection of how critical someone is. Rather, it’s a learned behavior that was normalized over time. Students begin to associate their high grades with feelings of praise and achievement, and like any repeated pattern, it becomes automatic. We study, we succeed, we feel validated. A high score is proof of capability and achievement, and so a low score naturally signifies a lack thereof. And we repeat this cycle without ever questioning it. Or at least, for as long as it works.

In a way, this cycle resembles the concept of classical conditioning, discovered by Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov. From many of Pavlov's dog digestion experiments, he was able to conclude that a neutral stimulus can gain meaningful importance when reinforced with the presence of a positive stimulus, leading to an involuntary response to the neutral stimulus as if it were the positive stimulus. In our case, success acts as the neutral stimulus. It can be a grade, or a different achievement of some sort, and it instills in us the feeling of validation. The validation then acts as the positive reinforcement that makes this pattern instinctive for many students.

Sooner or later, the process becomes secondary to the outcome. Achievement is valued less than understanding. And eventually, that distinction vanishes entirely. Grades become less of a measure of understanding and more of a self-identification factor. We “become” the grades that we earn.

So, when the pattern broke, because it always does, and the numbers were low and unfamiliar, I was more than disappointed. Although I couldn’t name the feeling then, I was disoriented. Astray. When the system that you’ve defined yourself around collapses, the performance feels uncertain, and so does your identity.

Grades started off as a measure of understanding or grasp of any given topic— it’s data to be used to tailor lessons or to find structured environments that work for you. They are a mark of effort and consistency, but they have quickly morphed into something far more. Something that builds a dangerously fragile confidence, depending solely on staying ahead and on top.

And, as it turns out, staying ahead is not sustainable.

The fall hurts, and it’s not comfortable at all. Ever the optimistic scholar, I’ve always thought that a failure was always a lesson learned. While your academic identity is in shambles, you find that it is in fact very difficult to retain that optimism— but don’t let that discourage you. It’s in that state of mind that an important realization surfaces.

I’ve learned that it isn’t as important to stay ahead as it is to keep going when you aren’t. Getting and staying ahead was never the point. Difficulty does not always translate to failure, and if i’m being honest, this wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. I didn’t just wake up one day, suddenly more competent and more “ahead of the game”. I wasn't any more disciplined than I was the day before.

Maybe I still am not.

But eventually, I’d begun to question the system that felt like a second skin, and it separated my identity from my performance. Even if only slightly, I’ve grown.