Tag Page AcademicBurnout

#AcademicBurnout
StellarSphinx

Defined by Deadlines, Not by Me

It’s almost funny, how clinical the steps sound: find the word, check the sources, organize, proofread, publish. That’s how you write a dictionary definition. That’s how you make meaning out of chaos, apparently. But no one tells you what it costs to care this much about getting it right. I spent nights hunched over my laptop, cross-referencing words until they blurred. Alphabetizing entries, double-checking phonetics, terrified of missing something obvious. Every mistake felt like proof I didn’t belong here. I’d reread the instructions—again and again—trying to make my work match the neat, logical process they wanted. My brain was a list of rules, not a place for ideas. There’s no entry for the feeling you get when you hand in a project and realize you don’t even know what you think anymore. Just that you followed every step, like you were supposed to. That’s what school taught me: how to define things, but not myself. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #Perfectionism #Education

Defined by Deadlines, Not by Me
ShimmeringShark

Advanced Math, Empty Hours

I used to be the kid who actually liked math. It felt like a secret code I could crack—until I realized how little it mattered outside the classroom. I spent years grinding through advanced equations, proofs, and formulas I’ll never use. Not once has anyone asked me to solve a differential equation in real life. I kept telling myself it was about discipline, or logic, or some vague promise of being ‘prepared.’ But prepared for what? I could have spent that time learning something that mattered to me, something I’d actually use. I know people say it’s about building your brain, but there are other ways to do that—ways that don’t leave you staring at a blank test page, wondering why you feel so empty. I loved math, but I resent how much of my life it took up. I wish someone had told me it was okay to let go. #AcademicBurnout #CurriculumRant #RealLifeSkills #Education

Advanced Math, Empty Hours
SpectralStag54

I Did Everything Right. Still Fell Behind.

I remember staring at my math homework, realizing I’d spent hours memorizing formulas but couldn’t solve the problem in front of me. We talk about how much the US spends on education, but all I felt was how much it took from me—my time, my sleep, my sense of being enough. They say students in Singapore are years ahead. Here, I watched teachers drown in paperwork and test prep, barely able to look up from their lesson plans. I kept thinking: if I just worked harder, maybe I’d finally feel smart. But every grade felt emptier than the last. No one tells you how much it hurts to give everything and still feel like you’re losing. I’m tired of pretending I’m not. #AcademicBurnout #NotJustGrades #EducationReality #Education

I Did Everything Right. Still Fell Behind.
BlushingBlossom31

I Can't Write Essays Anymore

People always say I’m a good writer. My teachers, my friends, even my parents—like it’s some part of my identity I’m supposed to be proud of. But when I sit down to write an essay, it’s like my brain just empties out. I stare at the blinking cursor and wait for something to happen, but nothing ever does. It’s not like journaling. In my diary, I can spill everything. But essays? I freeze. I start to wonder if I’m actually just faking it, if I’ve been faking it all along. The more I try, the worse it gets. I hate how small it makes me feel. I hate that it makes me question if I even belong in university at all. I wish someone had warned me that being "good at writing" doesn’t mean you’ll survive the way school wants you to write. #EssayAnxiety #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #Education

I Can't Write Essays Anymore
GossamerGale

Teaching Thousands, Feeling Invisible

I used to think teaching would mean connection. Instead, I stand in front of 2,670 faces, most of them black rectangles on a screen, and I wonder if any of them will remember my name. I grade until my eyes blur, answer emails at midnight, and still feel like I’m failing everyone—my students, my family, myself. Some days, I forget what my own voice sounds like. I scroll through anonymous feedback, fixate on the one sentence that says I’m boring, or that I don’t care. I do care. But caring doesn’t scale. I can’t be the mentor I wanted to be. I’m just another cog in the machine, and the machine is hungry. I keep telling myself it’s worth it. But tonight, I’m not sure I believe it. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #InvisibleLabor #Education

Teaching Thousands, Feeling Invisible
NovaVerse

Cum Laude, But At What Cost?

I don’t know when school stopped being about learning and started feeling like a test I was always about to fail. Maybe it was the third time I skipped dinner to finish a paper, or the night I sat in the library bathroom, hands shaking, because I realized I’d forgotten what day it was. Every syllabus was a threat. Every planner page, a list of ways to disappoint someone—my parents, my professors, myself. I chose classes not because I cared, but because I calculated which ones I could survive. I’d cross out parties, skip birthdays, tell myself I’d make it up to friends later. Later never came. I filled notebooks with perfect notes and my head with the fear of slipping below a 3.7. I turned in every assignment, even when I barely understood the words. I asked for extra credit, not because I wanted to learn more, but because I was terrified of being average. When I finally got the email: “Congratulations, you will graduate cum laude,” I stared at the screen and felt nothing. Not relief. Not pride. Just empty. I’d done everything right, and somewhere along the way, I lost the part of me that cared about anything but the grade. #Education #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety

Cum Laude, But At What Cost?
IcebergInventor

“I’m Rooting for You”—But I’m Not Okay

I used to love hearing, “I’m rooting for you.” My mom would say it before every exam, every application, every interview. Friends texted it with exclamation points. Professors wrote it in the margins of my essays. I thought it meant I was seen, that I mattered, that I was on the right track. But somewhere between the third all-nighter and the fifth rejection email, it started to sound hollow. I’d stare at my laptop, eyes burning, and wonder if anyone rooting for me actually knew what it felt like to keep failing in private. To have people believe in you so loudly, while you lose faith in yourself so quietly. The last time someone said it—after I didn’t get the internship—I just nodded. I wanted to say, “Please stop. I don’t need more hope. I need this to not hurt so much.” Now, when I hear “I’m rooting for you,” I feel exposed. Like I’m letting everyone down, not just myself. Like every cheer is another reminder that I’m not who they think I am. I wish I could root for myself, but most days, I’m just trying to get through without falling apart. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #NotJustGrades #Education

“I’m Rooting for You”—But I’m Not Okay
NebulaNectar

I Got In. Then Fell Apart

I wish someone had told me that building a medical school application would cost me more than just money. I don’t mean the fees—though those are brutal, too. I mean the nights I stared at my ceiling, rehearsing answers for interviews that never came, or the way my hands shook opening emails that always started with “We regret to inform you.” Every step felt like a test of how much I could sacrifice. I stopped playing piano. I stopped seeing friends. I stopped sleeping. I kept telling myself it was temporary, that I’d get it all back once I got in. But the more I gave up, the more I wondered if there’d be anything left of me to recover. I memorized MCAT flashcards until the words blurred. I shadowed doctors who didn’t remember my name. I volunteered in hospitals and tried to look like I belonged, but mostly I just felt invisible. I wrote my personal statement three times, each draft more hollow than the last. I tried to sound passionate, but all I could think about was how tired I was. When the acceptance finally came, I didn’t feel proud. I felt numb. I thought it would fix everything—the anxiety, the loneliness, the constant sense that I was falling behind. But all it did was prove how much I’d lost along the way. I got in. Then I fell apart. #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety #CollegeReality #Education

I Got In. Then Fell Apart
MistySunrise

Imagination Wasn’t Enough

I used to think imagination could save me. Teachers said it was a superpower—just close your eyes, picture a solution, and the world opens up. I tried. I really did. I sat in silent rooms, staring at blank pages, telling myself to think outside the box. But the box was always there: deadlines, grades, the constant hum of not being good enough. Every group project, every brainstorming session, I felt like I was faking it. My ideas never sounded as smart out loud as they did in my head. I’d go home and replay every word, every awkward silence, wondering if I was just slow or if everyone else was pretending too. They say to challenge assumptions, but what if the biggest assumption is that you’re supposed to be creative on command? What if the real problem is you’re just tired—so tired you can’t even daydream anymore? I tried all the tricks: freewriting, mind maps, even sitting in the dark hoping for inspiration. Mostly, I just felt stuck. Like I was failing at something everyone else found easy. Imagination was supposed to be an escape. For me, it became another thing I couldn’t get right. #Education #AcademicBurnout #Perfectionism

Imagination Wasn’t Enough
EnigmaticEagle

I Learned to Count Minutes, Not Memories

I used to think the worst part of school was the boredom. That was before I realized how much of my life I spent trying to make time disappear. Every morning, I’d carve my day into blocks—thirty minutes for the bus, an hour for class, fifteen minutes to pretend I was ready. I’d cover the clock on my laptop with a sticky note, but I still felt every second crawl by. People said to break things into smaller tasks, to listen to music, to find a routine. I tried all of it. It just made the hours feel more precise, more measured, like I was serving a sentence and the only thing I could do was count down. I stopped thinking about what I was learning. I started thinking about how to survive the next chunk of time. I’d stare at the ceiling, make lists in my head, play mind games to distract myself from the ache in my chest. Sometimes I’d text a friend, just to prove I was still here. Sometimes I’d write in my journal, but it always came out the same: I don’t remember the last time I felt present. I just remember waiting for it to be over. #AcademicBurnout #CollegeReality #TimeAnxiety #Education

I Learned to Count Minutes, Not Memories