Tag Page AcademicBurnout

#AcademicBurnout
GalaxyGypsy

I Know My Patterns—But I Still Can't Stop

I keep a list. Not a to-do list, not goals—just a running inventory of the ways I mess up my own life. It started as a way to get better, but now it’s just a record of every time I slip. I know exactly when I’m about to do something self-destructive. I can feel it coming, like a headache before a storm. I’ll have a fight with my mom, or get another email about a missed assignment, and suddenly I’m lighting a cigarette or scrolling through old texts I promised myself I’d delete. I write down the reasons, like I’m supposed to. Stress, loneliness, wanting to feel something. I know the consequences too—shame, guilt, waking up at 3AM with my heart racing. I can name every trigger, every excuse. I’ve read all the advice about changing my thoughts, but in the moment, it’s like my brain wants the punishment. Sometimes I wonder if tracking it all just makes it worse. Like I’m collecting proof that I’ll never actually change. People say it’s about patience, about progress, but most days it just feels like I’m watching myself drown in slow motion. #Education #AcademicBurnout #SelfSabotage

I Know My Patterns—But I Still Can't Stop
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
KaleidoQuest

I Made Every Pro/Con List. Still Lost.

Senior year, I had two amazing internship offers. Everyone said I was lucky. I wasn't lucky—I was paralyzed. I meditated. Made spreadsheets. Weighted every pro and con like my life depended on it. Asked professors, friends, even my therapist which choice would make me happy. The thing is, I'd been optimizing my decisions for so long that I'd forgotten what wanting something actually felt like. I could tell you the salary difference, the career trajectory, the networking opportunities. But when people asked which one excited me more, I just stared. I picked the one that looked better on paper. Got the congratulations, the LinkedIn likes, the validation. But walking into that office on day one, I realized I'd spent four years becoming really good at making choices that made everyone else proud. I just had no idea who I was underneath all those perfect decisions. I'm still figuring that out. #Education #AcademicBurnout #DecisionFatigue

I Made Every Pro/Con List. Still Lost.
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
RetroRhino

At Least My 3rd Grader Was Writing

I watched my kid scribble stories at the kitchen table while I stared at my own blank screen, paralyzed. I was supposed to be writing my thesis—something about educational equity, the kind of thing that looks good on paper. But I couldn’t get past the first line. Every email from my advisor felt like a reminder that I was falling behind. I’d stay up late, convincing myself tomorrow I’d catch up, but the words never came. My son would ask what I was working on. I’d lie. I felt like a fraud—teaching him to love learning while I was drowning in it. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll remember these nights. If he’ll see how school can break you, even when you do everything right. #AcademicBurnout #ParentingWhileStudying #NotJustGrades #Education

At Least My 3rd Grader Was Writing
EnergeticEmber

Built Robots, Broke Myself

They said anyone could learn robotics. Just pick up some coding, brush up on linear algebra, join a club. Make it fun. I spent sophomore year drowning in prerequisites I was supposed to already know. While everyone else debugged their code like it was breathing, I Googled 'what is a variable' at 3AM. The robotics club felt like a job interview every meeting. Everyone had been building since middle school. I couldn't even get my servo motor to turn without breaking something. My robot finally worked for the competition. It moved, it responded, it did everything right. I stood there watching it perform perfectly and felt absolutely nothing. I realized I'd spent so long trying to prove I belonged in STEM that I forgot why I wanted to be there. The thing I thought would save me from academic anxiety became another thing I wasn't good enough for. #STEMStruggles #AcademicBurnout #RoboticsReality #Education

Built Robots, Broke Myself
AstralAlchemist

I Threw Hot Dogs Until I Broke

It was 3AM in my dorm kitchen and I was throwing frozen hot dogs across the floor to calculate pi. Not because I had to. Because I thought it would make me feel something again. I'd been measuring everything for months—GPA, percentiles, hours studied. Laying down masking tape in perfect parallel lines like I was mapping out my entire future. Every throw had to count. Every calculation had to be precise. 300 tosses. 191 crosses. 300 divided by 191 divided by 2. The number came out close to pi, just like the textbook promised. But I felt absolutely nothing. I sat on that sticky kitchen floor at 4AM, surrounded by scattered hot dogs, finally understanding that all my mathematical precision couldn't solve the one equation that mattered: how to want things again. The experiment worked perfectly. I was completely broken. #AcademicBurnout #STEMStruggles #PerfectionismHurts #Education

I Threw Hot Dogs Until I Broke
RetroRenegade

4.0 GPA, 0.0 Empathy

I used to help classmates with homework. Shared notes. Actually cared when someone was struggling. Then junior year hit and suddenly everyone was competition. Every curve meant someone else's failure was my success. I stopped answering study group texts. Started hoping others would bomb presentations. The worst part? I convinced myself this was necessary. Called it "focus." Called it "drive." I remember walking past my roommate crying over her failed midterm while I celebrated my A+. Didn't even pause. Just felt... nothing. Got into my dream program. Perfect GPA. Dean's list every semester. But somewhere between freshman orientation and graduation, I'd become someone I didn't recognize. Someone who saw classmates as obstacles instead of humans. Someone who forgot that kindness wasn't weakness—it was what made achievement actually matter. Turns out you can ace every test and still fail at being human. #AcademicBurnout #PerfectionistProblems #GPAAnxiety #Education

4.0 GPA, 0.0 Empathy
SavantSculptor

I Forgot How to Talk to People

I don’t remember when I started dreading phone calls. Maybe it was somewhere between my third group project and the semester I stopped seeing friends outside of class. Texting was easier. Safer. You could edit yourself, erase the awkward, pretend you were busy if you needed to. Calls felt like exposure. Every time my phone rang, my chest tightened. What if I said the wrong thing? What if my voice cracked, or I sounded tired, or they could tell I hadn’t slept in days? Professors always said, "Just call if you have questions." But I never did. I’d stare at the syllabus, reread the assignment, and send another carefully worded email instead. I told myself it was about convenience, but the truth is I was afraid. Afraid of being judged for not knowing, for sounding lost, for taking up someone’s time. Even with friends, I’d text. "Hey, you free?" "Can I call?" I needed permission for something that used to be so simple. Now, every conversation feels like a test. Every silence is a failing grade. I wish I could go back to when talking didn’t feel like another thing I could mess up. But I can’t. So I text. And hope they understand what I can’t say out loud. #AcademicBurnout #SocialAnxiety #CollegeReality #Education

I Forgot How to Talk to People