For as long as I can remember, my worth was measured in report cards and the approving nods of my teachers when I answered a question correctly. I basically lived off the straight A's and honor roll certificates. But deep down, the joy of learning was replaced by the fear of failure, and I found myself suffocating under the weight of expectations—some placed on me by others perhaps, but mostly by no one other than myself.

When I was younger, I was eager to show off how smart I was. To me, it wasn't just about learning simply for the sake of knowledge- it was so that everyone and their mothers could know just how intelligent I was. I remember vividly the feeling of pulling out Harry Potter books during independent reading time, knowing that most kids my age couldn’t read at that level yet.

It wasn't just that I loved the books- it appealed to me as a chance to prove my intellectual superiority. I wanted everyone to know that I was "ahead," because in my mind, the smarter I was, the more worthwhile I became.

Being the "Smart Kid" became my identity. The applause, the acknowledgment, and the approval from my teachers and parents felt like everything to me. And as I excelled, the need for even more validation grew. I wasn't satisfied with just one acknowledgment, the praise turned into an addiction.

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But what happens when you fail?

Failure for me was taboo. It was terrifying- if I wasn't smart, then what was I? My identity and academic performance were so interwined together that the idea of not being the smartest kid in the room left me in an existential crisis.

For years, I had relied on the external validation of others to give me a sense of self-worth. But maybe my identity was fragile, and all it took to shatter it was one failure.

In truth, maybe that's what I had been running from- without being smart, what would people think of me? How would I be valued? I remember the first test that didn’t go as I had planned, and I had a full-blown panic attack. It might've been just one test- but I had always been able to control my academic performance, so this slip felt like my own brain had betrayed me.

And although it might've only been one grade, this had been my breaking point. I had spent so long correlating my academic success with my self-worth that I had become nothing without it. In my mind, I had felt like a fraud for being known as the "Smart Kid" without any smarts.

But this lead me to realize something more crucial- I had built my whole identity off of something fragile. I had become so consumed with proving my worth to others that I had forgotten what was seen the point of knowing such things. And I had turned it into a race, and the winning goal was simply getting approval from others. What did I actually enjoy beyond academic validation?

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And letting go of that obsession wasn't easy. It felt like I was abandoning a huge part of myself, like I was instead, in a way, "dumbifying" myself, if that's even a word. But as I took a step back, and began to allow myself to fail, I actually ended up enjoying life.

I found joy in exploring new things, not because I wanted to be the best, but because I was genuinely curious. I had finally begun to be imperfect, to make mistakes without worrying about others judgement.

Value isn't based off of how successful your report card looks or how many awards you can put on your resume. Sure, learning is amazing, but make sure you're learning for the sake of learning, not just for the praise. Your worth isn't defined by how many A’s you get or how many people clap for you, but about who you are as a person.

The best validation you can get is from your happiness.