Ode to high school juniors,
who got duped into thinking high school was going to be fun.
I sat in the living room reading “You’ve Got This” by Margie Warrell, and I heard my cell phone buzz. I always keep my phone on silent overnight; it was after 11:30 a.m. and I realized I had forgotten to turn on the sound. A buzz meant a notification of some kind — either a a news headline or a whatsapp message. I saw that I had two pages left in the chapter, so I kept reading, telling myself I’d check the phone when I was done. A few sentences later, the phone buzzed again. A second buzz so quickly after the first meant it was probably a whatsapp. I finished the paragraph and picked up my phone. It was a message from my 16 year old.
“Mom. I think I’m having a panic attack or something.” My heart jumped.
My older son was sitting near me on the other sofa, scrolling through his phone. I got up and walked into the other room as I dialed the number.
When he answered, I could hear that he was upset. His breathing was erratic and I heard him say something like “I. Can’t”. Next thing I knew, his best friend, was on the phone. They were in the bathroom downstairs in front of the math classroom. Apparently, my son was in math when whatever he was experiencing happened. He had texted his friend, who left class immediately to help. I asked to talk to my son again and said:
“Okay, babe, you need to do this with me, it’s important. We’re going to breathe. Just do it with me, ok? Take a deep breath in counting to four, ready? In. 1… 2… 3… 4… Now hold it… 1… 2… 3… 4… And breathe out.” I exhaled loudly so that he could hear me, counting “1… 2… 3… 4… Let’s do it again. Inhale for four.. 1… 2… 3… 4… . Hold it. 1… 2… 3… 4…” I could hear his breathing start to follow mine. I repeated. “Again, Son. Inhale through your nose for 1… 2… 3… 4… Hold it for 1… 2… 3… 4… and breathe out through your mouth. 1… 2… 3… 4…” We did this several more times and when I could hear that he was calmer, I had him do it one more time.
I asked: “How’s your breathing?” He responded slowly, “Better. I can talk now.” I said “Okay, I have just one question, son, do you want me to come pick you up?” “Yes, please” he answered. I told him that I would call the school so they could give him a pass to leave, and that I would be there in 20 minutes. As I got in the car, I decided to send him my live location in hopes that seeing me get closer to him would help keep him calm.
When I got to the school, he was standing outside by the front gate. He walked slowly to the car. I got out and walked toward him. He put his arms around me and hugged me for a long time. At six feet two inches, he towers over me, but in this moment, he felt like my little boy. We got in the car and he told me what had happened. He had been doing problems in math class, and he found himself getting frustrated that he could not get through this one problem. He is in an advanced class, and it’s hard. It wasn’t the first time he found himself blocked like this, but today, it was especially pronounced. The teacher walked over to him to help him a couple of times, and he couldn’t figure it out. He said he stopped thinking and wasn’t seeing clearly, and he felt himself begin to tense up and his hands were starting to shake. His teacher noticed that he was struggling, and she asked him if he wanted to take a minute outside. He went to the bathroom, where the symptoms got worse and he couldn’t control his crying or breathing.
We drove around for a bit. I asked lots of questions, but also tried to give him time to just be still. What came out gradually is that he puts a great deal of pressure on himself to do well in math and physics because he is interested in studying engineering. He has frequently talked about automotive or aerospace engineering and so math and physics are foundational. He is in advanced classes with really smart kids, and while he is equally smart, he gets frustrated that he doesn’t always get it on the first, or second try. He compares himself to the others, who in his mind seem to catch on a lot faster.
This is the first time in my son’s life that he is working hard to get average or below average grades. As a junior in high school, he’s entering that final stage where everything seems to matter, but nothing seems to be quite good enough. He tells me that he’s just not having fun and his motivation is at an all time low. He doesn’t find a lot of happiness in school, and while he loves his friends, he’s not having that much fun with them either. He has found joy in following Formula 1, a passion that emerged last spring during lockdown, and in music. He does love music.
I think it’s hard for 11th graders, especially those who have been pretty good at things for most of their lives. High school is basically like two different schools. 9th and 10th grades are High School Part 1 — where 9th graders feel infinitely cooler than 8th graders, but they are the high school babies, trying to figure out who they are on this new planet where everything seems familiar but nothing makes sense. 10th graders have kind of figured it out. They made the 9th grade mistakes and learned from them, and they know the ropes. Classes are hard, but not too hard yet and those that work well reap the rewards of top grades. In sports and in social life, 10th graders are just awesome — they are bigger, faster, stronger, better than the 9th graders they are lumped with — and that comes with a lot of confidence.
Then comes High School Part 2. 11th grade may as well be like 9th grade. Suddenly you are in harder classes, and it’s a whole new adjustment. You are told that it’s supposed to be hard, and you’ll figure out how to navigate it — that it’s all part of growing up. Adults tell you that you are really smart and that you’ll be fine. And yet right now, you don’t feel smart, and you don’t feel fine. You’re told you have time, and in the same breath, you’re told that everything counts and colleges are looking more closely at this year than the previous ones. How are you supposed to make sense of that? And outside of class, you’ve gone from being the captain of the JV team to one of the younger kids on a Varsity team full of experienced seniors. It’s like an unexpected left hook came out of nowhere and knocked you on your ass.
Your parents tell you that this is all part of growing up, but frankly, this part fucking sucks, and you aren’t sure how you are supposed to get your feet back on the ground. You look at your siblings, wondering if they went through anything similar. They seem to be pretty balanced, even though they aren’t that much older than you, so there must be a light somewhere… but right now, all you see is a long dark tunnel. You pretty much just want to close your eyes and sleep until June. Throw a little COVID19 on top of all of that, and it’s a perfect goddamn mess. You can’t even go out with your friends on the weekend to let off some steam because there are selective lockdowns, restrictions on gatherings and a curfew.
Dear Son (and all of the other 11th graders who may feel like total crap from time to time): You’re right. This sucks. There are ways to change this and as an educator, I’m taking some serious mental notes about how to plan for a different school experience for future generations of kids. It is true that we grow through challenge, but that doesn’t mean we need to knock you on your butts at age 16 so that you grow. I’m pretty sure we can do this better. In the meantime, I want you to know: nothing in you changed when you crossed the bridge from High School Part 1 to High School Part 2. You did not suddenly become smaller, weaker, less intelligent. It wasn’t a portal with a giant magnetic field that zapped your abilities. It was literally just a hallway, and a new set of lockers. You are just as strong, smart, and fun as you were before.
Yeah, shit got harder. But you have everything you need to rise to the occasion (and yes, I promise to stop telling you how smart you are — I recognize now that it only heightens the sense of failure when you don’t reach your goals). The block, the freeze, the panic attack… that comes from convincing yourself both that you can’t and that you should be able to. And that’s the only piece in this whole thing that you got wrong. You can do it. AND you will struggle. And that is okay.
Remember in 9th grade when you would make mistakes and feel like a fool? And how quickly that would pass? How you would laugh with your friends only hours later about the whole thing? Don’t take yourself too seriously. This moment, as messed up as it feels at times, doesn’t have to be all bad. Try to summon that 9th grade spirit — the one that allows you to laugh at yourself — as you go through some of these new challenges. And remember the words of Elbert Hubbard: “Do not take life too seriously. You’ll never get out of it alive.” With love, Mom.
