Tag Page GPAAnxiety

#GPAAnxiety
NebulaNectar

I Got In. Then Fell Apart

I wish someone had told me that building a medical school application would cost me more than just money. I don’t mean the fees—though those are brutal, too. I mean the nights I stared at my ceiling, rehearsing answers for interviews that never came, or the way my hands shook opening emails that always started with “We regret to inform you.” Every step felt like a test of how much I could sacrifice. I stopped playing piano. I stopped seeing friends. I stopped sleeping. I kept telling myself it was temporary, that I’d get it all back once I got in. But the more I gave up, the more I wondered if there’d be anything left of me to recover. I memorized MCAT flashcards until the words blurred. I shadowed doctors who didn’t remember my name. I volunteered in hospitals and tried to look like I belonged, but mostly I just felt invisible. I wrote my personal statement three times, each draft more hollow than the last. I tried to sound passionate, but all I could think about was how tired I was. When the acceptance finally came, I didn’t feel proud. I felt numb. I thought it would fix everything—the anxiety, the loneliness, the constant sense that I was falling behind. But all it did was prove how much I’d lost along the way. I got in. Then I fell apart. #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety #CollegeReality #Education

I Got In. Then Fell Apart
LunarEclipse

I Failed the Vertical Line Test (and Myself)

I used to think school was about finding the right answer. Memorize the rules, fill in the blanks, check the boxes. Like, if you can tell which relation is a function, you’re doing it right. But somewhere between the tables and the graphs, I started seeing myself in the questions. Inputs and outputs. If you give the right input, you get the right output. If you don’t, you’re wrong. Simple. Except it never felt simple. I’d stare at the ordered pairs, terrified of missing something obvious. One input, two outputs? Not a function. One mistake, two consequences: the grade and the way I’d beat myself up for days. I remember failing a quiz on this. My hand shook so hard I could barely draw the vertical line. The teacher said, “It’s easy. Just check if the line hits two points.” But I couldn’t see past the panic. All I saw was proof that I didn’t belong here, that I was the wrong answer. I still flinch when I hear the word “function.” Like I’m supposed to be one, too. Like I’m only allowed one output, and it better be perfect. #Education #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety

I Failed the Vertical Line Test (and Myself)
EchoElf

“Do Your Best” Broke Me

I still hear it in my head: "Just do your best." Teachers, parents, friends—everyone said it like it was a comfort. But no one ever told me what to do when my best wasn’t enough. Or when my best cost me sleep, my appetite, my sense of self. I remember staring at a blank exam page, knowing I’d studied until my hands shook, and feeling nothing but dread. I kept pushing, thinking if I just tried harder, I’d finally feel proud. But the grades came and went, and all I felt was empty. No one warns you that "doing your best" can turn into a trap. That you can burn out chasing a moving target, and still feel like you’re failing. I wish someone had told me it was okay to stop before I broke myself trying to be enough. #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety #CollegeReality #Education

“Do Your Best” Broke Me
NovaVerse

Cum Laude, But At What Cost?

I don’t know when school stopped being about learning and started feeling like a test I was always about to fail. Maybe it was the third time I skipped dinner to finish a paper, or the night I sat in the library bathroom, hands shaking, because I realized I’d forgotten what day it was. Every syllabus was a threat. Every planner page, a list of ways to disappoint someone—my parents, my professors, myself. I chose classes not because I cared, but because I calculated which ones I could survive. I’d cross out parties, skip birthdays, tell myself I’d make it up to friends later. Later never came. I filled notebooks with perfect notes and my head with the fear of slipping below a 3.7. I turned in every assignment, even when I barely understood the words. I asked for extra credit, not because I wanted to learn more, but because I was terrified of being average. When I finally got the email: “Congratulations, you will graduate cum laude,” I stared at the screen and felt nothing. Not relief. Not pride. Just empty. I’d done everything right, and somewhere along the way, I lost the part of me that cared about anything but the grade. #Education #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety

Cum Laude, But At What Cost?
RetroRenegade

4.0 GPA, 0.0 Empathy

I used to help classmates with homework. Shared notes. Actually cared when someone was struggling. Then junior year hit and suddenly everyone was competition. Every curve meant someone else's failure was my success. I stopped answering study group texts. Started hoping others would bomb presentations. The worst part? I convinced myself this was necessary. Called it "focus." Called it "drive." I remember walking past my roommate crying over her failed midterm while I celebrated my A+. Didn't even pause. Just felt... nothing. Got into my dream program. Perfect GPA. Dean's list every semester. But somewhere between freshman orientation and graduation, I'd become someone I didn't recognize. Someone who saw classmates as obstacles instead of humans. Someone who forgot that kindness wasn't weakness—it was what made achievement actually matter. Turns out you can ace every test and still fail at being human. #AcademicBurnout #PerfectionistProblems #GPAAnxiety #Education

4.0 GPA, 0.0 Empathy