It seems like everyone has that constant pressure to be perfect at everything. High school students feel obligated to maintain a 4.0 GPA all throughout high school, join as many varsity sports as possible, while also holding down a job. This pressure is causing unnecessary stress and anxiety in young adults making them feel like a failure if they come short of perfect.
You’re running as fast as you can. Your breath is laboring, heavy in your ears. You can see the graduation “finish line” in the distance, and all you can think is “Almost there. You can make it. You’re almost there.” Just when victory seems in reach and you can see the graduation podium, you feel yourself start to fall. Your body starts to tip, and you see the ground rushing up to meet you.
Honestly, junior year has been crazy busy. AP classes, the ACT, starting to stress about college, it was rough… but it was also probably the best year of our lives so far.
We get it: high school is hard. Students have gone through twelve years of waking up at a dastardly time, sitting still for up to eight hours, and being talked to, rather than talked with. Towards year eleven and twelve, we become tired of following the exact same routine day after day.
A few times a year, students across the U.S. are stuck inside a room for nearly five hours taking the ACT. Despite the pressure and preparation involved with the test, nearly half the students who took it their first time will take it again.
If you go to Bingham High School, and I assume that you do if you’re reading this, it can definitely seem like there are too many girls choice dances. This is really frustrating for us women because for most of the school year, it can feel like we’re the ones doing all the chasing.
Back in elementary, it was easy to tell if someone had a crush on you. It was easy because it was the boy who teased you endlessly about being a know-it-all or the girl who threw the four-square ball at your head on purpose. But now that we’re in high school if someone threw a ball at your head you’d probably punch them in the face.
One moment you’re freezing, huddling together in order to try and scrape together a sense, even just a memory, or warmth. The next moment you are sweating through your clothes, thinking that you’re going to die here, overheating and thoroughly cooked like a baked potato.
