It’s 8am and you’re in your dark uni flat. It’s so cold outside that your view is blurred by condensation and it becomes harder and harder to find reasons to emerge from the coccoon of your bed.
Cramps are wreaking havoc on your morning, making your stomach churn at the idea of your coffee, the thing that punctuates your morning routine. Without it, there’s no way to start your day, so you don’t.
Your body sighs in relief when your flatmate texts you to say she’s also not ready for the early start you planned together. You’re synced completely and your heart feels a little lighter at the hallway conversation between you all, littered with ‘it’s so cold!’ and ‘I don’t want to do it!’
You shuffle back to your room to start your day with the vestiges of a smile warming you up just a little, until you get the grade back that you’d anxiously been awaiting and your morning gets a little colder.
It’s not even a bad grade, and writing a blog post about it is definitely dramatic, but it’s also november and you’re stressed and cold and you’re on your period, so you’ll allow it.
It’s not a bad grade, you repeat like a mantra to try and pull it back up from sinking into your stomach with a bruising effect.
It’s not a bad grade, you hear from your flatmate and you know she’s right and reasonable, but you can’t help the disappointment.
It’s not a bad grade, and really you’re a fool for still being disappointed when you consistently miss the mark on your own expectations. You predicted this a week ago in the kitchen with your housemates. The disappointment is inevitable, so much so it’s as if it were out of your control entirely.
Maybe it is, or maybe I can try to learn.
The expectations I set are always unfounded. I never came to university an exceptional student and I’ve proven that in my four years. I’m consistently good, but I’m never special. I knew that, but it hurts to be reminded.
When all you’ve ever really been able to hold over other people is your brain, it cuts deep when it starts to fail you and you realise you’re just another fish in the sea. The personality trait you’ve curated after years of your brother pointing to Alex Dunphy and saying ‘that’s you!’ is more fraudulent than you realised, but you’ve got to keep swimming.
You don’t actually have time to be upset or disappointed, but your brain is also too foggy to study the guilt away, so you settle for making a homemade chilli and putting on a wash so you can at least say you achieved something with your day.
You never measure your friends by their productivity. You don’t love them more on days when you tick things off their to-do list or get a good grade. You don’t love them less if they come home and tell you they got nothing done, or they tell you about the tiktoks they watched when they were meant to be writing an essay.
You realise you don’t extend the same compassion to yourself, and maybe that’s something you should unpack. Productivity is not self-worth and neither are grades. (I write this to myself, this isn’t a self-help blog).
Writing this little post, you wonder why this grade in particular feels like such a blow, and it dawns on you. You worked hard. You put in the hours and used your whole week off to write two essays, and now you’re wondering why you tried. You look at your calendar and see the other six assessments you have to do in the next four weeks and wonder if you’re strong enough to let yourself down again.
You also realise again, it’s november and you’re stressed and cold and you’re on your period.
You’ll be okay <3
this resonated with me so much, a wonderful read<3
it’s like you picked the thoughts out of my brain and made it beautiful writing. i love this. it makes me feel like i am not alone.