Today marked the ceremonial First Day I Have Cried Over An Assignment. I knew it was coming, as did everyone who knows me (and knows that crying is my unfortunate default reaction to any emotional stimuli: joy, fear, grief, excitement, awe, love - TEARS). Emotional breakdown over, I was yet again consumed with embarrassment at just how much of a ridiculous human I am. My academic insecurity bit is completely tired*, yet I can't seem to shake it. I find myself clinging to my transcripts until my knuckles go white because, when they're torn away from me, I literally am empty-handed.
It's always been the grades thing for me. I'm one of those 'Jack of all trades, master of none' types - though whether I'm even a 'Jack' of some trades is doubtful. I can doodle, but I'm no artist. I can hold a note, but I'm no singer. I can dance, but I was never the best at that. I don't speak another language, play an instrument, and - while I can string a sentence together - I'm no writer. But academia is my thing.
It by no means comes naturally; I have to work (and work, and work and work and work) to get decent grades, but the pay-off comes from the satisfaction of knowing that I did it - that someone else gave something I did the gold star of approval. Maybe that's a damning indictment of my terrible habit of getting validation from others rather than myself, but we'll leave that for the psychoanalysts (though they'd probably link it to the whole cliché of parental pressure and judgements, and they probably wouldn't be far off the money). But whatever it says about me, I'm not sure I'll ever really be able to shake that desperate need to get an A, lest my life and endeavours be rendered null and void.
I frustrate myself - I know how daft it is to have one's self-worth tied up in a bunch of essays, for crying out loud, and yet I panic and I worry and I work myself to sickness to make sure I do well. Academic insecurity is not the worst thing in the world to be ~afflicted with, and my tendency towards the hyperbolic probably makes my talking about it melodramatic and tiresome, but I honestly do worry what I would be without it. What am I, if not Hannah Who Is Good At Essays?
Oh self, you are a silly thing. The daftest thing of all is that this assessment isn't even graded. Yet, I know if I'm presented with a paper which contains a big red zero, I'll be crushed. I'm hoping that, as I have matured a little since undergrad, I'll now be able to actually listen when people say that, hey, making mistakes actually helps you to learn, and, hey, it's not the end of the entire universe if this essay isn't tip-top. And yet, when I think about not being able to pursue my academic dreams, I feel quite nauseous. I guess this isn't a thing that fixes itself overnight.
However, while I may find myself having fever dreams about a syntax tree reaching out from the paper and strangling me with its complementizer clause (get it? Clause/claws? Oh, I amuse myself), for tonight, I'm going to stop. I've had a delightful evening, and will now retire to look at the photographs of my new baby cousin (eee!), and celebrate the Doctor Who's 48th birthday with my favourite episodes. More tears may come tomorrow, but this is - at the very least - a start.
*If you get that reference, marry me.
I DID NOT KNOW ALL THESE WERE HERE. YOU NEED TO PIMP YOURSELF MORE.
ReplyDeleteI basically cannot comment on this entry because it hit so close to home it made me feel a bit sick. I thought leaving academia would help me but now I just cry over fucking promotional flyers instead. Good grief.
Also, even *I* got that Bring It On reference. Now you'll have to marry me. <3