Education Broke Me Before It Made Me

It was supposed to be the golden path—the sacred road paved with textbooks, tests, and top scores. From the very beginning, I was told that education would be my ticket out. Out of poverty. Out of fear. Out of being ordinary.

And I believed it.

I was the model student. The one who always raised their hand. The one who finished every assignment before the deadline. The one who people said was “going places.” And for a long time, I wore that identity like armor. It made me feel safe. It made me feel seen.

But behind the grades, behind the praise, was a crumbling soul no one noticed—not even me.


---

The Pressure That Never Slept

My story starts in a small room with a flickering bulb and a wall covered in sticky notes. Each note represented a task, a goal, or a dream. “Ace the biology test.” “Apply for the scholarship.” “Win the science fair.” My life became a checklist. No time to feel. No space to breathe. Just hustle.

The deeper I dove into academic achievement, the more I lost touch with who I was. I stopped playing guitar. I stopped going out with friends. Sleep became a luxury, and food was often whatever was quickest to shove down during an all-nighter.

People clapped when I got awards, but they didn’t see the tears I cried into my pillow when I felt like I was drowning in expectations. The applause was loud—but the silence after the spotlight faded was deafening.


---

Burnout in a Beautiful Frame

I still remember the exact day everything shattered.

It was the morning of my final chemistry exam. I had studied all night, chugged three cups of coffee, and rehearsed formulas in my head like prayers. But as I sat at my desk, staring at the paper, I felt… nothing.

No anxiety. No stress. No excitement. Just emptiness. My brain, usually a flurry of energy, was silent. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. My hands were shaking. My heart pounded out of rhythm. And I couldn’t breathe.

I had my first panic attack.

I walked out of that exam room with a paper half-finished and a heart fully broken. I didn’t care about the grade. I didn’t care about the consequences. I just wanted to feel like a human again.


---

The Breakdown No One Saw Coming

Over the next few weeks, I spiraled. I avoided phone calls. Skipped classes. Hid from my own family. It felt like I had built my entire identity on education, and now that it was slipping, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I started questioning everything.

Why did I push myself this hard?
Was I learning or just performing?
Did I love education—or was I just addicted to achievement?

I went to therapy for the first time in my life. And it was there, in that quiet office with a box of tissues by the couch, that I finally said the words I had never dared to say out loud:
“I’m not okay.”


---

Redefining Success

Recovery wasn’t a straight line. There were days I felt like myself again, and others when getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. But slowly, I began to understand something powerful: my worth was never tied to my grades. My value wasn’t based on how well I performed.

I started learning for the sake of curiosity—not competition. I picked up a philosophy book, not because it was part of the syllabus, but because the questions fascinated me. I journaled. I meditated. I wrote poetry. I gave myself permission to just be.

And somewhere in the mess of unlearning and relearning, I found myself.


---

Breakthrough in the Brokenness

Today, I still believe in education. But not the kind that only rewards perfection. I believe in an education that allows failure. That encourages mental health check-ins as much as exam prep. That sees students as humans first, achievers second.

Education didn’t destroy me. But the system—the pressure, the toxic productivity, the idea that burnout is a badge of honor—that’s what nearly did.

Now, I speak out. I mentor younger students and tell them it’s okay to rest. That skipping a lecture to protect your mental health doesn’t make you weak—it makes you wise. That being gentle with yourself is part of the process, not a distraction from it.


---

The Final Lesson

The most important thing I learned didn’t come from a textbook. It came from surviving the storm.

It taught me this:

> “You don’t need to break to prove you’re strong. You don’t need to suffer to deserve success. And you don’t need to lose yourself to find your future.”



Education broke me before it made me.
But I’m still here.
And I’m still learning—this time, with open eyes, a steady heart, and no more sticky notes on my wall.

Just peace.

And that’s enough.