Results Day 2017

I spoke about my emotions about results last year, when receiving results for the first time: AS results and GCSE results. Today I reflect on receiving some A level results, and how my outlook on exams and results and ultimately myself is in the process of drastically changing – an outlook I was only beginning to realise this time last year.

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

I had a horrible time at school between the ages of 10 and 13. I hated it, I hated myself and I had a very bleak outlook on the future. I didn’t want to do anything other than work. I knew I’d be safe in the library or alone in my room. As the Dean would say, like Peter, I was afraid to ‘jump out of the boat.’

Talking to a counsellor over the course of the last two years, I’ve realised that for a long time, I’ve had an astronomically unreasonable fear of failure and letting people down, probably originating from that time at school. The only person I should be afraid of letting down is myself, but I ignored myself, constantly fearing that I’d let my teachers down, let my parents down, let my friends down. I thought that everyone expected me to be perfect. But I never realised that every day it was me who expected myself to be perfect.

That constant pressure wore me out, to the point where I was so self conscious, so self deprecating and so self abusive. I felt so anxious about anything, and would panic all the time. I had to stop doing ordinary things like debating and playing or singing in recitals because I was so anxious that people were looking at me, and judging my imperfections. I thought I was a failure to them. That was when something had to change.

It’s taken me years to see that no one can be the dictionary definition of perfection.

I saw that I actually let myself down a long time ago, and never noticed. I’ve been damaging my self esteem for longer than I can even remember. I never took time to congratulate myself or be pleased with myself, or more importantly, time to reflect on failure. I was never good enough, there was always something else to do to be perfect.

So gradually I’ve had to deconstruct that self-induced pressure in my mind. And it doesn’t go away instantly. Although it was fading by results day last year, there are times this year when that anxiety has come back in full force. I can’t click my fingers and be free of fear. Events like my breakdown after reading at Easter suggest that perhaps the fear is still there more than I would like it to be. But I can manage it. I’ve become more comfortable with doing justice myself, saying no when things get too much, and not being afraid to let others down to heal myself. Ultimately I had to realise that others’ opinions don’t matter so long as I was proud of myself.

I’ve become such a different person inside myself this year. I am more independent, more confident. I laugh. I finally want to do other things. I want to get out. I want to be there for people and not just find friends in grammar tables (!).

But this year I knew that I’d found the exam period harder emotionally, because I had had to let go of the damaging work ethic that I clung to for comfort during GCSE. Some nights I didn’t work at all. No night did I work after 11. It was hard to break the cycle that I’ve set for myself and I still felt guilty that I could have done more. But I knew had worked as hard as I both physically and emotionally could and should.

The run-up to this year’s results day would be the ultimate test of managing fear of failure. Last year I let myself back into that castasrophising mindset. But this year I felt internally strong enough that no matter if I got Us, I wouldn’t panic, because I wouldn’t let myself, or anyone else, down.

I was in a slightly strange position of it being my third results day, but I’m not leaving school. I was just receiving one A level French grade that I’d taken early, and an AS which doesn’t even count for anything since I’m taking a 2 year A level alongside it. None of it really mattered. If the worst came to the worst I’d retake French. But probably not. So I didn’t really have anything to be nervous about.

Deep inside of me, there was that niggling fear – I felt like I had to prove something to the school, having been allowed to take A level French early, causing havoc with the timetables as I attended half L6th and half U6th lessons, and because my head of MFL thought I was stupid, and would end up getting a worse grade. I did not want to let him down.

But I tried not to think about it. The decision I took to do A level early was ultimately mine. I am confident enough now to trust in my own decisions. Whatever was going to happen results-wise, it was the right decision at the time, no matter what the HOD thought.

I remembered last year, when I got no sleep for my first results day, panicked about everything and had a massive argument with my parents about whether I was allowed to have my phone in my room overnight just the once so I could see my results before my parents logged in on the computer. I had to be the first to know. But I lost that argument.

I felt much calmer approaching results day. I tried to come out of my exams, both internal and external and forget about them. What happened in that room, happened. I couldn’t change it, and I’d worked hard. I didn’t even remember it was results day this week until people started asking me about it at the Cathedral last Sunday. But it still didn’t panic me as much as I thought it would.

The inevitable knot in my stomach only hit me late yesterday afternoon. I was sitting out in the garden drinking tea and chatting with my Father’s old history teacher who thinks he’s a dog (that’s another story…) and he asked me how I was feeling about results. At least, he said, it couldn’t be any worse than when he was at school and all the results were written up on the blackboard where everyone could see them. No, I replied, probably not.

The old feelings started to creep in at the corners of my mind: guilt over whether I had done enough work, worrying about what would happen if I didn’t make the grade I wanted and the general aura of panic. But I kept myself calm, and having company around at home really helped to escape dwelling on the finality of results. I had been worried about having both Mr Fyles and my grandparents over on results day. If I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped, having a house full of people with no quiet space to think felt a bit much. But in the end it was what I needed to distract me.

I stayed up really late last night, chatting and laughing, baking Clafoutis and discussing the fall of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, as you do. I was exhausted when I got into bed at 23:00, the upside of which was that I slept all the way to 05:30, which I was pretty proud of. I dozed for the next hour, thinking over different scenarios, but I was surprised that I was not panicking about them. I had not fought about electronics this year, and kept my phone in my room. But I didn’t look at it until 06:43. Obviously there were no results, they were only published at 06:54 (I mean it was meant to be 07:00 but someone must have decided to be nice), but that was still pretty good going.

Last year I understood that I wouldn’t let others down, no matter what I got, I was loved. But I still don’t think I saw that I hadn’t let myself down. There were still things that could have been better.

Today I did feel a sense of pride when I saw the letters on the screen. But I felt more proud of myself for taking another step on the way to self-confidence and self-assurance. I will never again let myself down like I have done for the past 7 years. I have bullied myself, and pushed myself too hard. Today I am proud of myself for being a happy person, and not a list of grades. I didn’t work every night. And that paid off.

I had a pancake again for breakfast.

~Take time out in stressful periods. It seems counter-intuitive at first, but it is restoration that allows your body to keep functioning.

~Trust in your faith that whatever happens, you will walk with God in the next phase of your journey. It may seem a diversion, but there’s no doubt that some twisted way you will reach your real intended path.

~Don’t be afraid to talk to people about how you’re feeling in exam periods or leading up to results. There are loads of people out there who want to support you. They may be able to identify the origin of the problem, and then work it out with you. Write it down if that’s easier, it is for me. Screw up the paper afterwards if you have to.

~Be strict with yourself and your heath. Make sure your wellbeing comes before any stupid letters on a screen.

~Be confident, laugh, have fun make decisions that are right for you. Do all you can, physically and emotionally, and that is all. That way, you can never let yourself down.

Thank you to everyone who supports me, and helps me to see myself for who I am, and not the boxes I tick.

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In the shadow of the Cathedra

As I’ve mentioned before, writing poetry is one way in which I cope with emotion and pain. I’ve found it especially helpful in the last year, during which time one important place in my life has undergone a significant amount of change.

I first wrote this poem around Easter, when I was struggling with faith and the future, and have since redrafted it several times, reflecting on how I’ve changed since that point. It focusses on the point after I stepped down from the lectern holding back tears. There are moments where I still feel like I am at the destructive part of the poem, seeing everything I knew tumble and burn, feeling lonely, far from God and incredibly vulnerable.

But more often than not, now I feel more able to take a step back and turn to God in my vulnerability and not simply close myself off, but work through that same pain and destruction in prayer. The feeling that everything is tumbling down doesn’t just go away, but I’ve learnt that it’s about how we react to it that is most important.

In faith, I think we must choose not what is often the easiest option, turning away, but instead choose to turn aside, to pray and seek with God how we can be beacons of light in surrounding darkness, and how we can rebuild in love.

On reading the poem, I feel like you can sense the original anger that flowed out onto the paper when I first wrote it. It feels disjointed and doesn’t quite fit. It is quite different to some of my more lyrical poetry. It is raw and brutal and full of hurt. At the same time, it is a poem in two halves: there is a point during the poem where I saw a different way of looking at change and pain, and I began to see a more hopeful way forward with God. Whenever I read it, I find myself thinking, how am I looking at things today? With anger or with faith? With pain, or with hope?

I struggled to name this poem, but settled on the place in the Cathedral where I felt most comforted as a little girl. I used to sit up between the Quire and Sanctuary at evensong, beside the Cathedra. There, with the sun casting rainbow reflections on the marble floor, I would feel most loved and as if I could do anything with God. It is still one of my favourite and most comforting places, though I little get the opportunity to sit there.

In the shadow of the Cathedra

The walls are weeping

With the sound of our tears.

The walls are shaking

With our bitterness.

 

Foundations tremble

With our stifled cries of anger.

Bricks like tears tumble,

Becoming rubble.

 

It is like watching a car

Crash in slow motion,

Each of us failing to

Push the brakes,

As we travel blind towards

Our time of death.

 

Is the moment of

Impact is passed?

Only our carcass remains.

We wait for the

Final bones to go up in

Flames.

 

It is hard to see when

The asphyxiating

Asbestos of our minds

Will ever be chipped away.

It has already

Killed my trusting heart.

 

Love can rebuild. But

Where can love be found?

A world devoid of love

Leaves my childhood home

Flat on sandy ground.

 

My house has many

Rooms, says the Lord, my

God. But standing here,

I see no room for

Me.

 

Yet I cannot close

My Heart to you. You

Weave yourself back in.

You hold me.

 

I know there’ll be

A day, when my heart

once more will weep with

salted tears.

 

I’ll look to you again:

The Lord on high, my

God. And, alone, I

know I’ll find you then.

 

May I be penitent,

Seek forgiveness,

Be slow to judge,

Be open to forgive.

 

May I find strength in You.

May I speak the truth.

May I heal the wounds

We made for ourselves.

 

On your rock may I

Rebuild my house,

My heart, my hope.

 

Cleanse our hearts, wipe from

Our eyes the tears. Show

Us the place where pain

Is no more.

And make us once more

One in you, O Lord.