Zach was an impressive tenth grader—bright, driven, and engaged in various activities. He balanced a solid GPA in accelerated classes with being a starter on the varsity basketball team and participating in the Math Olympiad. He even played the French horn in the school band, though he somewhat sheepishly admitted it was mainly a tactic for his college applications and to avoid a dreaded art history class.
By April of his sophomore year, he began preparing for the ACT, aiming to complete it by fall. His tutor charged $800 an hour, and they would meet for at least two hours, twice a week. It wasn’t long before he came to me, expressing doubt about his performance. Despite scoring consistently high—34s on practice tests, notably close to the perfect score of 36—he still felt inadequate, especially since he dreamed of attending the University of Pennsylvania. For Zach, even a 34 didn’t feel like enough.
As a clinical neuropsychologist, I provide therapy and cognitive support to children with learning and developmental disorders. Zach sought my help to secure a letter that would grant him testing accommodations. He believed that more time could help him achieve that elusive perfect score he craved.
In a world where excellence feels like the minimum standard, many students—like Zach—face immense pressure. When they fall short, they often embrace labels and seek additional resources. Some children genuinely require these services, while others may be navigating typical developmental hurdles. Unfortunately, trying to medically address these normal struggles often backfires, leading to greater unhappiness.
Zach is far from alone in feeling anxious about academic performance. Society conditions us to focus on metrics, grading everything from children’s height and weight to school test scores. I remember feeling proud when my son’s checkup indicated he was in the 95th percentile for both height and weight.
This obsession with metrics often translates from toddler measurements to the anxieties surrounding teenage ACT scores. We become emotionally invested, attributing too much weight to these figures. Parents frequently express concern over scores in the 37th percentile, which, to be honest, is quite average.
In most areas, striving for more often leads to diminishing returns. Take attention, for example: too little, and schooling suffers; too much, and we obsess over trivial details while missing the bigger picture. Anxiety operates similarly—excessive levels can paralyze us, while feeling too little can lead to rash behavior. Ideally, we want to find a balance.
Most standardized scores are limited indicators of abilities. These figures merely provide a snapshot of our capabilities at a specific moment. What’s crucial is understanding that performance can fluctuate. Our learning and growth are ongoing processes, and measurements can come with errors. Ultimately, qualities like creativity and resilience—often unquantifiable—are better predictors of success.
Yet, it’s natural for parents to feel the pressure from both sides. If our children struggle, we panic and look for diagnoses. When they excel, worries arise about them becoming perfectionists or overly anxious. It seems we can’t win in this equation. The healthy gray area where most development occurs appears to be vanishing.
This inclination to label everything is undeniably affecting our children’s mental well-being.
We might think we’re doing right by mobilizing resources, but we could be inadvertently harming their mental health. Consider depression, which often leaves individuals feeling they lack control over their lives. Medical diagnoses can place blame on the brain, distancing kids from their personal agency. When success hinges on rankings or paid advantages, effort may feel futile.
Anxiety, too, thrives on avoidance. Offering accommodations may provide immediate relief, but it denies kids the chance to learn coping skills, leading to increased anxiety in the long run. These supports may seem helpful in the moment, yet they often prolong stress.
I understand that wanting the best for our kids drives us, but navigating this landscape can fill us with guilt and confusion. We’re bombarded with information and pressures that complicate even the simplest choices. In that context, a diagnosis can feel like a reprieve—it simplifies things, albeit perhaps misleadingly.
So, what else can we do?
Instead of seeking diagnoses as fixes, we should redefine ‘average’ as acceptable and approach rankings from a different angle. Success needs to be re-envisioned. We can help our children regain a sense of control and encourage them through challenges rather than shielding them constantly. Distinguishing between offering support and enabling dependence is critical.
Trusting our instincts is vital, too. Real problems typically reveal themselves clearly, and we should seek help when needed. For smaller struggles, offer informal support and remember that these moments are often temporary blips on the radar.
Zach will likely earn admission to a respectable college whether he scores a 34 or a 35. Most importantly, he will still grow into a happy and successful individual regardless of where his educational path leads.
Overall, resilience is key. If we can foster that spirit in ourselves and our children, we can navigate these challenges together.
Note: The character described in this article is a composite and/or fictionalized.
