Sitting in my parent’s room, the weight of my father’s words was flimsy at best, each bouncing off me as I yawned.  It was a familiar scene I had endured countless times before. I was an eighth-grader, navigating through life with the naivety of youth, yet again being lectured about my grades. As my dad's voice droned on, I couldn't help but wonder if he ever grew tired of his own words echoing in our small space. His expectations demanded nothing short of perfection. When he finally finished, I grinned, “Would you rather have me understand everything and grow with a C, or cheat and never learn with A’s?” His response was swift, words slicing through me like a knife. “If you understand everything, you better get A’s, and I don’t care what you must do to get them.” Instantaneously, those formerly flimsy words became a heavyweight chaining onto my feet, and the realization washed over me like a wave crashing against a shoreline. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be enough.

Struck with silence by the weight of his expectations, I dashed to my room the second his lips closed. The entire interaction played in my head on a loop. I didn’t know that’s how the school worked. Did my effort not matter unless I was perfect? Do I not matter unless I am perfect? As I stared blankly at the wall that night, I made a silent vow. I would become the epitome of perfection, the embodiment of everything my father wanted me to be. At that moment, my life, self-worth, and definition of hard work crumbled around me.

Starting in eighth grade, I waged an internal war with myself, my self-worth tethered to the sole pursuit of excellence. Every B was a dagger carving scars into my heart, a cruel reminder of my inadequacy. COVID-19 only exacerbated the isolation of homeschooling, amplifying the voices of doubt in my head. The following year, I was thrown into the battleground of ninth grade. My energy was drained by the relentless pursuit of my dad’s unachievable standards. I never questioned if it was right to go to bed consumed with self-hatred for never being enough or if it was right to view waking up each day as a curse rather than a privilege.

Starting tenth grade at Southwest was like being awoken by icy water. The struggle to connect with others left me feeling like a parasite clinging to those around me. Despite this, I began understanding my worth in that sea of unfamiliar faces. My sophomore year they transformed me like a caterpillar emerging from its chrysalis, unveiling a newfound resilience I had never imagined. Despite receiving another B, I learned to silence the voices of self-doubt and embrace the idea that effort mattered more than perfection. Slowly, I forged real, meaningful connections, but the scars of my past lingered.

After years of ignorance and denial, I finally faced reality - my father's harsh words were a reflection of his unfulfilled dreams. He grew up poor and lost his mom young, with his dad being equally horrible to him. Raised in hardship, he projected his aspirations onto me, molding my life to fit his vision. Despite the pain of my dad lashing out, it took years to face the chain he had tied to my feet. To this day, as I navigate senior year with the pressure of college looming, the need to excel is a constant weight on my shoulders. Every failure I face threatens to knock me down and unravel any progress made. However, I've learned to recognize the signs of my toxic mindset and take steps to prioritize my mental health. No one should ever have to endure the turmoil I faced in high school, and I will reinforce this for anyone else who needs to hear - your worth extends past letters on a transcript.

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