While I have failed in different aspects of my life, I want to focus on a time I failed in academia because my childhood very much revolved around school and not much else. I was taught that school should be my number one (and basically only) priority. So failing in my only job (studying) had a great impact on me.

I grew up in a household where failure was not a part of life. It did not mean you could learn from your mistakes. Rather, failure meant the end, especially academic-wise. I studied a lot to ensure not just a passing grade, but as close to perfection as I could reach. It was not good enough to get a good grade. My parents instilled in me the idea that I had to be perfect in school. I feared failure.

My first time getting a grade close to 65% was absolutely terrifying. However, I passed. So I pretended it never happened. And it only happened once. But when I got to high school, I struggled in my ninth grade biology class. It was not that the subject matter was particularly hard or that my lack of interest in the sciences held me back from achieving the best that I could. Simply put: my teacher’s tests were very difficult. I struggled and so did everyone else. I managed to scrape by for most of the year with 80% and above. But there came a topic around which I just could not wrap my head. It was not that the material was difficult for everyone else. The rest of the class did as usual. It was a personal struggle. I failed that test. I failed a test for the first time ever.

I felt so ashamed of myself. But even that feeling did not surpass the fear I had knowing I had to give the test to my parents to sign, acknowledging that I had failed. I thought the world was going to end. Somewhere over the years, however, my mother had become more understanding. I expected her to yell at me for failing and to not understand that I was struggling. Instead, she saw my grade and did not judge. She was not upset. She said she understood and told me to continue working hard. Do not give up. She was still proud of me.

Failing once in school taught me that I cannot be perfect at everything. One failing grade will not ruin my future. And my parents would not disown me. To fail is to be human. I turned my motivation to succeed from the fear of failing to the desire to not grow. And if failing was a part of growing, I am okay with that. As long as I know how to pick myself back up again.