The discordant, tinny sound of my 30-minute timer pierced the air, jolting my attention from my chemistry homework. Bleary-eyed, I checked the time on my phone: 12:26 a.m. As I stared at my worksheet lying in front of me, I felt the familiar frustration boil over in my gut. A simple worksheet that was meant to take 30 minutes in its entirety had instead taken me 30 minutes to complete two problems.
My routine was fixed: when it was time for me to begin my homework, each assignment had a specific time allocated for its completion: 30 minutes for math homework, 1 hour to study for chemistry. The allocated time was often generous — yet time after time, the timer would go off and I would be nowhere done with my assignment, instead left with a headache and on the verge of tears.
For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with my STEM courses. It would take me twice as long to complete any assignment or understand a simple concept compared to my peers, who seemed to consume new information as if it were oxygen — equations and concepts come together automatically for them, like puzzle pieces. I felt inferiority sink into every part of my brain. I couldn’t make sense of it. I studied for hours for every test, completed all my homework by the deadline, asked questions, did practice problems and got outside help. Yet when a test or quiz came around, all my knowledge vanished. Those hours of studying shrank the moment I got the assessment back, my throat closing up, leaving me constantly defeated and disappointed.
I convinced myself that there was something wrong with the way my brain worked and that I simply wasn’t smart. When I would ask my peers for help, I found myself in complete oblivion at their explanations, simply saying, “Oh yeah, thanks, that makes sense,” for what seemed like the hundredth time. I constantly asked myself — what was I doing wrong?
However, the last few months of my sophomore year changed my perspective. One day in early April, I was poring over a math assignment and was stuck on a problem for over 20 minutes. Concentrating on figuring it out instead of turning to ChatGPT, I failed to realize my panicked friend had approached me.
“I need help. I have a speech due next period, and I don’t know anything! You’re really good at speech, right?”
I was shocked. Usually, I was on the receiving end of help, but this time, I was the one being asked. This was someone who excelled in math and science, aced every single test thrown her way, asking me for help. I watched her give a run-through of her speech, and together we pinpointed areas for improvement. After 20 minutes of addressing where she stumbled or where her tone fell flat, she said, “You’re so lucky, I would do anything to be good at speaking in front of the class. I practice so much, but when I’m up there I just blank,” before looking down at my math problem and adding, “Ugh, I remember doing those. They’re so hard.”
My chest swelled with validation. My friends’ experience with public speaking directly reflected the one I had with test-taking. Something that came naturally to me was something that she struggled with. My whole life, I had felt unlucky for being given a brain that never understood math or science topics. But for the first time, something inside me clicked: maybe I was lucky. Not only that, but her comment about my math homework being difficult — even for someone who, in my eyes, was the smartest person I knew — made me stop the cycle of self-doubt that made me believe I was the only one. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel cursed or alone.
My friend’s simple comment turned my world upside down, making me realize I had categorized intelligence so one-dimensionally. If you were good at math, you were allowed to be considered smart. But now I realize that being “smart” can mean different things to different people, and it doesn’t revolve around one skill set, but instead is catered to each person’s strengths. This shift in mindset allowed me to complete assignments at my own pace and stop criticizing every mistake I made, abandoning my timer system completely. Though I still struggled academically, I saw a major improvement in my confidence, taking my seat in chemistry or math and feeling like I belonged there.
So, dear reader,
Somebody else’s struggle may be your strength. Find your strengths, and put your commitment into those. That’s not to say to completely abandon the classes you struggle with — continue to work hard and achieve the best you can in all your endeavors. That perseverance and patience are skills that also mark your intelligence.
Most importantly, figure out what works for you. Practice different methods of studying and don’t be afraid to ask for help — real help, until you can teach someone else the topic. The method that worked the best for me was creating silly analogies to help me explain real concepts. Comparing the various groups in the periodic table of elements to cliche high school friend groups helped me remember their properties when taking a test.
When you’re struggling with your academics in a rigorous environment like MVHS, you’re made to feel like you’re the only one. This isn’t true. There are so many resources available, so remind yourself that there isn’t only one correct way to be “smart.” Take it from me.
Sincerely,
