I Believe In Failure

The pile of homework sat at my desk. All I can see is the piles of papers chasing me. Telling me that I’m not going to make it out alive, but if I take it one step at a time I know I can. Over the years, we find success in some grade levels, and other times we struggle. Because I did all of my homework, took good quality notes, and had amazing teachers to help me, my 8th grade year was the most successful year I’ve had.

Sophomore year is an in between year. No longer were we freshman, but we did not quite have the pressure of a junior and senior. I came to realize I was not able to be the perfect student, or even the perfect child, I was always perceived to be. Years of being a teacher’s pet made school effortless, I never knew the feeling of getting something wrong. Just like in Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” I only fantasised what I thought was real about myself, I was to never present a mistake. I could not mess up for it would mean failure, leading to disappointment. Classes were harder, teachers did not have as close as a personal connection with their students, I struggled with this change. My

My mother became depressed, my father became disabled, and my brother was skipping school. I continued going to school from eight until four, which was a big relief in my life because it made me forget the hard times. My grades slowly began to decline, as well as my motivation. I gave up many opportunities such as attending New York’s number one specialized high school. I recognized my mistakes and was able to identify my failure. School was not the only place where I lacked interest in because I also slowly started to push my friends away. As a young teenager, I did not think I would ever make it to college. I became frustrated at my parents because my life was ruined and it was all their fault.

Since grade 7, I have been in an academically competitive school. I was immediately thrust into an environment of intense learning. My early years were primarily of struggle. However, after a junior high of strenuous work to keep up with my academically brilliant peers, I entered high school with the confidence to challenge myself.

With shaking hands, I allowed the pair of grey scissors I had sharpened multiple times to slip through my hands, and away from my wrists, letting it lay widespread on my bed like a soaring bird. With just around a week of school left, a list with all the students who had straight “A’s” for all three years had been posted -- and I was not included. When my parents found out, they looked so disappointed, like they were ashamed that I was their child and the fact that I was even living under their roof. Burying my head into my hands and curling into a ball, I cried myself to sleep feeling ashamed and worthless, while wondering when I would be able to escape from the pain and unwillingness to live that I had felt since I was 12 years old. I had never revealed my struggles to others and was afraid that if I did, I would be abandoned for my differences, and left alone

Sixth grade was possibly the worst year of my life. There were so many fights and I moved for the last time. I never had any real friends until sixth grade because my mother moved me around so much. I moved from place to place, got robbed a few times. My life was pretty eventful. I started sixth grade in another school, before Reeds Brook, and I didn’t fit in anywhere in my old school, so I was by myself a lot of the time. Soon, every summer i came to see my dad, he lived in Hampden and spoiled me with money because my mother never did. Soon I became ‘Damaged’ in my mother’s eyes and she didn’t seem to care nor want me anymore. At that time, I was in Maine, ready to go back, home. The thing was that i didn’t want to go home,

When I came home in late July I knew what I had to do. I ran into junior year head on, I did not let the adversity I was facing scare me from continuing to challenge myself. I decided to use my past as a stepping stone rather than a roadblock, and, watching my peers dwell on the small inconveniences in their own lives, I knew that I could succeed no matter how monstrous of a task it seemed.

though graduating High School was my greatest success, it also was stressful, putting forth the

Waking up in the morning filled me with dread. I didn’t want to go to school. Why would I when all that was waiting for me there was anxiety and stress? Loaded with four AP classes, each day was a test of my endurance, my ability to last throughout hours of lectures and assignments. Every night was passed with me studying for the next day of class and sitting at my computer writing an essay

I believe in accepting failure as a mistake to learn from as an edification to go forward in life. I have had some failure throughout my lifetime. At first I did not believe in failure as an option , but now I do. What made me change my belief was when I realized that my career will get harder and harder if I do not accepted failure. Also , it is a way to be successful . One of my failure was in my four years of high school . In high school, I have failed in a math class, drop out of a class and got a bad store on Act or Sat. The beginning of sophomore years I decided to take honors English and algebra two classes . The first day of honors English class was great and as the semester went by I realize that I was barely marginally the

My educational path has been filled with up and downs, it seems like it’s been a long journey with no end in sight. Like most people, I have been in school the average twelve years and have taken the further step in attending college. It is no surprise that I have had the typical school experience. However, there are always parts of someone’s life that aren’t just black and white. The unique obstacles that I have endured make me who I am today. A large portion of life experience can be credited to all my years in school. From the start of elementary to my days today here at VCU.

Looming in front of me was something new, a fresh start. Despite being this, it seemed cold and trying, something that sent shivers down my spine. Mixed emotions of uncertainty and optimism had filled my first day of middle school; and as my final year is drawing to a close, I realize that this place-this transitional time in my life- is something that I never want to leave. I created a home away from home, and a family, over the short three years spent learning here. Each school year, from first to concluding, brought new experiences in which have altered my life. These are the things that I am hoping to carry over into high school-my next chapter. Every experience in which middle school has brought leaves me changed indefinitely, shaped for the future ahead.

My last year of middle school, the clock ticked down and my grades descended as summer began closing in. Teachers bombarded students with final projects that seemed impossible to accomplish with such short time left. English class certainly dragged me down as I wasn 't very literate to begin with. I felt defeated by each assignment, because I failed to reach any of my teacher’s standards. With no will to write, I thought I would never find myself with an A on any of my papers. Until I encountered Mr. Thompson and Ms. Marquez, the people who showed me that my success could only be accomplished by hard work and honesty.

down in a chair ready to relax. Then, you realize that you can’t rest and you have to finish the history essay, the math worksheet, the spanish project, and the science notes. In high school, were so busy with homework, projects, essays, and clubs that it’s so hard to have fun and focus on our own passions and what you like. In order to preserve, protect, and grow one’s passion, an individual must stay strong during times of hardship and doubt, focus on their own priorities, and to not get peer pressured into doing something that isn’t their passion.

If you were to talk to me today, you would never know that I was once the child who veered off the straight and narrow path. In those distant years of my past I was a problem child, with the notion that school was my playground. A failing grade use to mean that I was having fun in a prison with bleak white walls. When I was written up and sent to the principal’s office I knew that I would get to go home. But the cheerfulness that I felt, up until the point that my parents arrived, quickly vanished when I saw the tears in my mother’s eyes each time. This scenario lasted for the better part of my elementary school days and followed me to my new school when I moved. My mother’s tears haunted me at night, the joy I felt, when I got in