The whole “former gifted kid burnout” is real. But I don’t regret it.

Have you ever read confessions of “former gifted kids?” When I write it like that, all it evokes in me is the concept of “former child stars.” The screaming headlines read: “WHERE ARE THEY NOW?” You can’t help but click on them, anticipation welling up in your gut, and you are not entirely sure if you hope to see the star succeeding and failing. You’ll get that hit of dopamine either way. I think there’s a certain element where this applies to “former gifted kids,” whether you knew them or not. A little bit of, “Everyone thought they were special but they’re just like everyone else” plus a little bit of, “Wow, they’re so successful and I knew them way back when - so cool!”

And for those of us who are former gifted kids, it feels more like a sigh of relief when we see another former gifted kid says the exact same anxiety-ridden hot-take you carried inside you as well.

The quote-unquote “gifted program” took on different forms in different schools, so I can only speak to what it looked like where I grew up. The whole designation of gifted was based on the standardized tests we took yearly growing up (which, yes, lots of issues with that, since there are so many different kinds of intelligence). The scores you earned on each sub-section could be designated as high enough to be considered gifted. From my recollection, I was designated as gifted in reading as a first grader. In second grade, I tested gifted in all subjects and was invited to join the gifted and talented program, which was called “Discovery” in my school district. From there, I passed into “accelerated” classes, tested two grade levels ahead in math, and ultimately took “honors” and “AP” courses in high school. When I went to college, I ended up being a member of the Honors College and graduating Summa Cum Laude and at the top of my class in the Business College.

Not that all of that means much as an adult. Once you’ve dealt with the student debt that scholarships didn’t cover and you got the job college prepared you for, it’s not like being a “former gifted kid” gives you any edge in the quote-unquote “real world.” What it does give you…well…that’s a bit more complicated.

In writing this post, I did a quick little Google search about the concept of former gifted kids and it’s WILD. I became familiar with the concept thanks to sarcastic Tweets mostly, which I related to fiercely. The concept that former gifted kids grow into adults with anxiety and perfectionism and procrastination thanks to the fact that we fear being anything less than perfect has certainly been relatable for me. Someone shone a light on you and now you have to perform.

Going even a little bit beyond just a surface understanding of the concept, however, reveals more disquieting takes that are worth a thought. There’s the recognition that kids were sorted into “gifted” and “non-gifted” within an imperfect system. Schooling, like politics, has some bugs, to say the absolute LEAST. And then you sort out kids into a system that makes some kids believe they’re better than others and other kids think they’re not smart. Which is a MESS.

I’m a decent test taker because I see patterns quickly and I’m good at memorization for the short term. Don’t ask me about the long-term because none of the things I actually learned (like 90% of calculus) stick with me. I’m excellent with trivia because weird facts stick in my brain without my notice but don’t ask me about code development, even though I graduated with flawless straight-As from my college major of Computer Information Systems, because it vacated my head the moment I passed the class. Designated as gifted with the grades to match, sure, but hardly ever—if ever—the smartest in the room.

Plus, I got the whole former gifted kid trademarked ANXIETY and fear of being anything less than perfect and unadulterated shame if I ever make a mistake. Not to mention the whole transition from “gifted kid” to “competent normal adult” was such a nauseating roller coaster. I needed to be knocked down from that false height to realize that I was enough without all the accolades.

No, this is not meant to be a humble brag. But if you need a break to punch something, I’ll join you at the heavy bag.

Sometimes, I wonder if I had to learn how to be a human in a way other people didn’t. I can only tell you about what’s in my own head, so maybe I’m just full of myself. But it’s only been since graduating college that I was given the empty hours in which I could just

exist.

Here’s the thing when people think you’re smart: you are also scared to let them down. So you take on three AP classes and a bunch of extracurriculars and a leadership position and sleep for a grand total of 6 hours a night at 17 and your sense of self disintegrates between your fingers. Your nights are scheduled based on how full that stupid planner is. It was so unsettling to get a full-time job and realize I didn’t have homework anymore. What am I supposed to do with all this free time?

Who am I when no one is watching because for once, finally, nobody is watching?

It’s especially complicated in a world that’s more connected than ever, with social media on which you’re supposed to post your biggest accomplishments, like we’re all still in high school begging to be seen and terrified to be looked at. You're trying to leave behind the sense that you’re always on stage while still always being on a stage.

But here’s the wildest thing of all:

I don’t regret it. I don’t regret joining the gifted program, going through the increasingly challenging honors classes, not even for a second.

Does it sound backwards? I’ve spent almost 1,000 words here just talking about how broken the concept of being “designated gifted” is. And it absolutely is. The system through which we determine which kid is gifted is broken. The weight we settle on that little kid’s shoulders is too much. But like in most things, the concept isn’t black and white, good and evil. There are bad parts. But there are good parts. And those good parts play just as much a role in defining who I am.

I did like being the “smart” kid. I did like feeling special. But that’s so surface-level and self-obsessed, that it’s hardly the most important thing. I liked the opportunity to get college credit prior to college and earn scholarships to battle student debt before it started. But even that doesn’t get to the core of why I liked being considered gifted.

Let’s go back to how the gifted program worked at my elementary school. Discovery, as it was called, was basically a replacement for standard language arts classes. In my school, our homeroom teachers taught language arts and math. We would go to another teacher for science and social studies. Plus we had a bunch of other teachers we would visit once a week for other classes, like art and music. So Discovery only covered a very small portion of the day and functioned as an advanced language arts class. And the thing that I most loved that we were expected to do was ISPs.

ISPs, or Independent Study Projects, were projects I participated in from second grade through fifth grade. Each year, we would choose a particular topic and then examine that topic through Bloom’s Taxonomy which included multiple levels of thinking, including:

• Knowledge

• Comprehension

• Application

• Analysis

• Synthesis

• Evaluation

This meant that for whatever topic we chose, we had to complete six individual projects that addressed these levels of thinking. While you might start with a short list of facts or an essay about the topic, you then broke down the topic into its composite parts and put it back together until you applied that knowledge to create something new.

I ADORED these projects.

Over the years, I studied oceans, gerbils, earthquakes, and the country of Mexico. I went to the public library and came home with a massive armful of books that I would comb through for interesting facts and ideas for projects. In second grade, my synthesis was a play about the oceans. In fifth grade, I created a board game about Mexico. Our teacher provided us feedback as we worked on the different levels of thinking and we had to address their critiques. It was challenging. It was extremely time-consuming. It was rewarding.

And to some extent, I credit these projects for a portion of how I think today.

I was so fortunate that the gifted program in my school wasn’t just about reading harder books (though we did that too) or giving us harder tests. Instead, our gifted program taught us how to think for ourselves. How to take a topic and break it down so we could put it back together with better understanding. We weren’t to recite facts—which our standardized tests had already done the job of proving we could do—but to assess facts and understand their implications.

When gifted class became “advanced” instead, I noticed the difference, especially in high school. That’s when it became just a matter of reading different books. Or in the case of math, I took the normal Trigonometry class except it was full of juniors and I was a freshman. But sometimes, I would see a flash of what the ISPs taught me back in Discovery. The advanced math class I was in back in sixth grade was always the test group for new review games our teacher came up with. In AP English, about a solid eighty percent of our class was sitting in a circle and discussing the philosophical implications of whatever book we had just finished. This was the part of being smart I loved.

Because the secret is: most “gifted kids” realize the title of “gifted” is a farce. We’re good test-takers. I remember songs because I’m good at patterns and I wrote good essays because I memorized exactly what I needed to write in the fifteen minutes prior to the test. We look good on paper and get certificates for straight As but we don’t care. And yet, it sticks with us, because it’s what our teachers expect from us. And like all kids, we just want to be told we did a good job. Which gives some of us some broken coping mechanisms that we’ll need to deal with in therapy someday. The burnout catches up to us.

But then there’s the good part of being gifted, which I think may have been created with good intentions. I was fortunate enough to be placed into an environment which taught me to think for myself, ask good questions, find trustworthy sources, and consider what these facts might imply to the greater picture of life. Which are all incredibly helpful tools that I actually use, as opposed to whatever I did on a Calculus test that has little application.

All of this to say, I suppose, that while former gifted kid burnout is real and awful, I also am grateful that I don’t regret the events that led to this burnout. And I think that’s an important way to think about the past. A bit of “I carry this wound but I am grateful that it brought me to here.” I am grateful that I had good days that the bad days don’t outweigh.

Don’t live for the weight of the expectations of others. Live instead for whatever brings brighter light to your eyes.