Here’s the downside to being an over-achiever; when you’re eight, everyone around you wants to see you fail. When you’re twenty, even when people either don’t care or want to see you succeed, you still think they want you to fail.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall. It feels like one of those video games where you’re so far into the final boss fight, and two or three more shots will do it, and then the boss gets a really good shot in and you’re down, back to the last checkpoint with your tail between your legs.
Right now, I feel like that. Except far more publicly.
We’re due to get our university results at some point this week (when is anyone’s guess). The hardest three years of my life have built up to this moment, and I have no idea what is going to happen.
I’m fairly certain I’ve passed. I’d be surprised if I hadn’t, let’s put it that way. I don’t know what grade I’ll get. My dream would be a 2:1. After everything, when even finishing my degree felt like a far away dream, to be here at the end of it all is good enough.
The problem comes when people start guessing what you’ll get. Don’t get me wrong, it’s touching that people think I’m capable of a first, but don’t start acting like a 2:1 is something I should be ashamed of. I am totally cool with the fact that I won’t get a first. It’s unobtainable ; I worked it out based on my grades so far. It just won’t happen, and I don’t mind. I never thought myself capable of a first in my pre-baby days, never mind now!
I’ve never wanted special consideration purely because I’m a mom, but sometimes I wish people would remember that a 2:1 is bloody brilliant for anyone. If I can open my results letter this week and see 2:1, I will be over the moon.