While I was in grade school, I could count the number of Asian-Americans in my grade on one hand. There weren’t many of us to debunk the model-minority myth, which I never knew existed until I was in college.
Throughout my grade school experience, I received A’s, with a few B’s here and there, on everything. I was chosen to clean up the silkworm poop, and being the “Pooper Scooper” for our class pet silkworms was the most coveted job in third grade. I was even Student of the Month for several years. Even so, I don’t think I would have turned out to be the extremely dedicated (and depressed) college student I am today had it not been for the “Studious Asian” stereotype.
This stereotype says that Asian-Americans are naturally high skilled and excel academically, particularly in STEM fields. This myth has been ingrained into the American education system and it perpetuates the idea that, because Asian-Americans are “naturally” high achievers (on average), we are the models to whom others ought to look up to. Giselle W. Chow writes, “The academic, social, and emotional experiences of Asian-American Pacific Islander (AAPI) students are far more varied and nuanced than most of us think.” [1] On average, we, as a group, score higher on SATs and ACTs than any other racial group, especially in the math department. [2] Because of statistics like these, it has been widely believed that AAPI students are the “model-minority.”
I grew up with this stereotype: that I am naturally good at everything academically, that I require no help or tutoring, and that I’ll get into the best colleges and universities to become a doctor or an engineer—or both. There isn’t anything inherently bad about having high expectations or goals, but having this ideal expectation forced upon children while they are still in developmental ages is ridiculously heavy and unethical. It can lead to depression and anxiety in children who have yet to fully understand why they feel this way—and how it can be prevented.
As I continued to grow, so did my expectations of myself—exponentially so. It seemed like the academic bar was always increasing, and that I was never able to reach it. Luckily, this never happened at home because my family was kind and encouraging about my academic life without being overly pushy. They left me alone to do my homework because I think they just expected me to know how to do it all. I think they expected my good grades to continue without issue. No, at school was where these expectations abounded. Everyone around me knew that I got good grades. There were other kids who snatched my papers/tests/quizzes from my hands to see what grade I got. There were other kids who tried cheating off of my papers. There were kids who asked me for help. There were kids who didn’t care. And then there was me: burned out and clinically depressed before I even reached middle school.
Math, history, and science were my worst nightmares in high school and college. It was a shock to me that these subjects that I’d excelled at once before suddenly became challenging. I was struggling. I was struggling, and I refused to admit it—because the model minority myth had been so ingrained in me that I didn’t know how or when to ask for help. I felt like I couldn’t, like I wasn’t supposed to. I also didn’t want to be seen as someone who couldn’t live up to her expectations. I didn’t want to look weak in the face of adversity. I still don’t want to look weak in the face of adversity. My teachers knew I needed the help, and so help was forced upon me. I attended mandatory tutoring for math and spent extra time studying other difficult subjects. Getting kicked out of your honors math class will humble you.
Now that I am a senior in college, I find it strange that even though no one else I know associates the Studious Asian stereotype with me, I still do. I feel compelled to live up to nobody’s expectations—expectations that have now become my own. There is no way of extracting them from me, only a slow, constant process of unlearning this stereotype and bringing awareness to others going through the same experiences. Unlearning these extreme expectations is vital to my mental health, because I know how my depression can incapacitate me when I become obsessed with the unobtainable goal of perfection, of a 4.0, of honors-only classes and programs.
I struggle in school, there’s no doubt about that. Who doesn’t? If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my college career, it’s that I have been so wrong about what is expected of me. Society and culture have a funny way of getting into our heads and making us believe in the untrue, the mythology of the mad. Grades are not everything. I am not a number, I am not a letter, and I am definitely not a statistic. I am whole. I am human. I contain multitudes, goddamn it.
I know I’ll still be constantly trying to unlearn the faux importance of getting perfect grades and excelling in everything I do for years to come. I know I still have to work on accepting failure and rejection as parts of life, understanding that my shortcomings are nothing more than a side effect of being human. We have a tendency to focus on the negative more often than the positive. A thousand compliments can build me up, but one insult, one “bad” grade, one criticism, can still weigh me down for weeks. I’ve learned more about self-care during my time in college than I have during my 23 years of life. It’s important to remember how to take care of yourself—mentally, emotionally, and physically.
I still suffer from depression. I still get upset and complain when I receive a less than satisfactory grade, when my work is not perfect. I’ve dropped out of college before as a result of my depression and anxiety, so I know how far down I can sink. I’ve seen the bottom of the ocean, and I’ve come up with a lungful of water to prove it. But I’ve resurfaced. That is what I remind myself when I am on the brink of breaking down. I have resurfaced through the worst of my depression during my academic career, and I have the resources at my disposal to keep me from drowning again. I have realized that B’s and even C’s are okay. A GPA that is not a 4.0 is okay. Those things are not the end of the world, although it may certainly feel like that sometimes. I remind myself to breathe, to take a step back and remember that I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. I write this as a reminder to myself that grades are not everything. I deserve to treat myself better than that. I deserve to be better than that.
[1] Giselle W. Chow, “The Model Minority Myth,” Winter 2011
[2] Giselle W. Chow, “The Model Minority Myth,” Winter 2011
Wayward Musings 