My dignity is not a grade

The day my name appeared on the admission list, I felt like I was touching the sky. Graduating from high school and walking through the university gates is every student's dream. For my family, it was an immense source of pride; for me, it was the beginning of freedom, the first step toward achieving my great ambitions. I was finally going to learn my future profession, become an independent woman, and prove what I was worth.

I still remember my first steps on campus. Everything was massive: the crowds of students running in all directions, the noise of discussions, and above all, those large amphitheaters that intimidated me so much. At first, you feel a sort of euphoria. You tell yourself that the hardest part is behind you, and that you just need to work hard to succeed.But the honeymoon with the university did not last long.Very quickly, the pace became dizzying. In high school, we were guided, followed, almost carried by our teachers. Here, we were just numbers among hundreds of others. The professors dictated or projected their lectures at an insane speed, without worrying about whether everyone was keeping up. To make matters worse, the complexity of certain subjects completely overwhelmed me. I, who was used to managing well, found myself facing academic concepts that felt like a foreign language to me.Every evening in my room, I reread my notes with a knot in my stomach. I spent hours trying to understand, but the puzzle pieces just wouldn't fit together.Then, the first evaluations arrived. And with them, the first real shock of my student life.When the results were posted, my eyes searched frantically for my grade. When I saw it, my heart skipped a beat. It was a catastrophic grade, way below average. Me? Failing like this? A wave of heat rushed through me, followed by an icy chill. Around me, other students were shouting with joy or complaining, but I couldn't hear anything anymore.It was at that exact moment that a toxic voice began to whisper in my head: “You are not up to the level. You chose the wrong path. You are going to disappoint your parents. You are going to fail.”The fear of failure is an invisible disease that paralyzes the mind. It erases your strengths and only shows you your weaknesses. I felt tiny, lost, and terribly vulnerable. I desperately wanted help, advice, a guide to tell me how to get back on track.I didn't know yet that this distress, which I thought I was hiding so well, was written all over my face. And above all, I didn't know that on a university campus, students' moments of weakness are sometimes watched by those who are supposed to protect them.