Growing up, exam season was a big thing. In my family, at least.
Growing up in a neighbourhood school, I was constantly fed with the idea that working hard was the only way to a better life.
In the lead-up to the PSLE, I would regularly wake up at 4am to study before I went to school. Even at the tender age of 12, my mum would buy me coffee so that I could stay awake.
By all accounts, it worked, as I landed in one of the most elite schools in Singapore.
Yet, the competition didn’t end there. It was only the beginning. For the rest of high school and college, I was given the narrative that we were the “cream of the crop”. Achievements were aplenty in my school. Each day, during assembly, we would see people winning Math Olympiads, international sports competitions, and being awarded book prizes.
I was struggling to even pass my exams at this point. Seeing these achievements around me fuelled my internal narrative that I was not enough.
Finally in 2016, I won that overseas scholarship, but that only set me on a drive for more.
It was worse now. I had a price tag to my value, with the $208,000 bond now quantifying my worth. I felt I had to work to justify what others had invested in me.
In 2019, I thought I got all I wanted.
The first-class honours, awards, and even a board directorship.
But when I finally returned to Singapore, I was filled with a strange emptiness. I stuffed myself with cakes, chocolates and cookies to fill the emptiness within me. Within a month, I grew by 8kg. I realised I needed help. In October 2019, I saw a psychiatrist, and took antidepressants.
It was an irony to imagine how far I’d fallen from grace – from a board director, to being put on antidepressants.
I share this story because I want parents to know one thing: That what you might be pushing your child to – more accolades, better results, may not be the thing that satisfies them, nor you.
There is a caveat though.