My situation might seem extreme, but I’m far from alone — over 25% of college students have been diagnosed with or treated for mental illness. More and more, people are able to talk openly about mental health issues, and that’s a really good thing! Public dialogue has been shifting in a far more positive direction the last few years, but the stigma still remains. I want to help destigmatize mental illness by examining how my brain got this way in the first place — and how I can still succeed and thrive in the exact areas where I’m supposed to fail.
This surprises a lot of my friends nowadays, but I used to be known as the smart kid. I was, in every sense, the perfect studious Asian stereotype. Piano lessons? Check. Advanced classes? Check. Spelling bees, gifted programs, extra credit, you name it. To this day, my first grade teacher still has some elements in her curriculum that I originally suggested because I thought they would make class more fun. I loved school! And school loved me (until it didn’t).
The fact that I was smart ended up being my biggest weakness. I was always able to learn new concepts very quickly, so I never had to spend any effort studying or reviewing. As a quiet, lonely kid, I spent a lot of time reading — there’s a good chance I already knew most of this stuff. So, since I had so much extra time on my hands, I was free to pour all of my energy into making my work The Absolute Best.
It wasn’t enough to me that my book report was done early — I might as well copy it down in perfect handwriting and add an illustration to make sure my teacher would love it. At first this was a fun way to take pride in my work, but it eventually became an unspoken rule for me:
If you didn’t give it your best effort, it’s not really done.
Of course my teachers loved all the hard work I put into my projects. I was always the kid whose work they would use as an example. I had the best dioramas, the best models, the best posters, because I would spend hours trying to make it look as perfect as possible. As the work got harder, I started becoming more stressed without realizing it, because my impossibly high standards had to raise as well.
It doesn’t matter that the essay is done — if it’s not perfect, I shouldn’t even bother submitting it. I was a victim of my own harsh criticism.