Drowning In Stress, Learning How To Swim...

I will never forget the first day of my sophomore year. I had expected it to be a simple continuation of freshman year—another chapter in the same two novels on the shelf, side by side, each page adding to the ongoing story of life. Every year, a new edition is added. But this time, the page didn’t merely flip. It was rewritten, white-out erasing last year’s memories, a red pen crossing out everything that came before.

This change brought me back to a pivotal moment: sitting in my guidance counselor’s office, being recommended for two AP courses by my teachers. At the time, it felt like a dream. I felt the weight of responsibility and creativity beginning to take shape, the realization that I was about to chart my own course—one filled with possibility and purpose.

On September 4th, I walked into Room 141 early in the morning. AP Seminar. At first, it all seemed manageable. The workload was light, but the environment was unlike anything I had experienced. Unlike my quiet, independent honors English class, this one buzzed with ideas and collaboration. Adapting felt overwhelming, but the professor was supportive, and it felt possible.

As the year unfolded, I began to shed the quiet shell I had always lived in. I had never been especially social, but the course demanded more interaction than I was used to. Before midterms, the flow was steady. Afterward, the current quickened. Teamwork became essential, and the work piled higher. I knew I had to adapt, but I wasn’t sure how far I could stretch.

My midterm presentation brought a brief calm. For a while, my mental bookshelf felt more organized. But soon, another storm hit. This time, I was no longer watching from the shore—I was caught in the flood. I knew I needed to expand my capacity, so I built a new shelf. I took on larger projects, and though the weight was immense, I found space to manage it.

By March, it was time for individual research assignments. I placed mine on the far-left corner of the new shelf, convincing myself I had time. But as new work flooded in, that neglected project inched closer, demanding attention. Then came another major assignment and the shelf collapsed. My balancing act failed. Stress overtook hope. Hopelessness crept in.

I tried to fight it—to immerse myself in my research, to answer a question I cared deeply about. But one question kept rising above all others: “Why do I feel this way?” I was constantly running—mentally, emotionally—and soon the days began running too.

Which brings me here: Easter Sunday in Key West. A place meant for rest, reflection, and release. And while I found stillness in moments, the broken shelf stayed in my peripheral vision. The unfinished assignments followed me like shadows. You can't outrun what lives in your mind. Eventually, it finds you.

But that day, I paused. I watched the waves and breathed deeply. I realized something I hadn’t before: it starts with me. I don’t need to fear the weight. I need to understand it. Learn from it. Grow because of it. I may never eliminate pressure, but I can reshape how I carry it. And for the first time, I’m not running.

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Feelings can be tricky to understand—especially in adolescence, when the brain is still learning how to process them. In those moments, the word “why” becomes heavier than any other. Why do I feel this way? Why can’t I focus? Why does pressure feel like fear? For me, these questions weren’t just emotional—they were neurological puzzles. Here is why I felt this way:

I felt Overwhelmed:

Why:Increased responsibilities, new social dynamics, and an abrupt change in educational demands (two AP classes).

The neurology behind it:

• The prefrontal cortex—which manages making choices, organization, and impulse control—has limited capacity, particularly under prolonged stress.

• The brain's threat detector, the amygdala, gets hyperactive when responsibilities pile up too quickly. Even if it's not dangerous, it perceives the amount of work and peer pressure as danger.

• The hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis gets triggered, emitting cortisol (the stress hormone), which may damage memory, decrease focus, and reduce emotional regulation, making it more difficult to deal with stress or recover.

I felt Isolated:

Why:Being placed in a socially vibrant, productive setting when I naturally lean to private, independent work.

The neurology behind it:

• The anterior cingulate cortex, which is bound to social pain and rejection-related activates equivalently to how it would if we were attacked physically.

• Because of the insula, which monitors internal bodily states, also responds to social unease, I directly felt that stress. Additionally, the insula is in charge of self-awareness and thought processes.

I felt Pressure to Succeed:

Why:Being seen as outstanding (AP course recommendations), internalised goals, and fear of failure.

The neurology behind it:

• Dopamine spikes from the anticipation of success, and is not just a boosting factor for achievements.

• When being perfect seems like the only option that one has, the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (which helps weigh risks and rewards) can get taken over by perfectionistic thinking.

• The amygdala gets activated due to the fear of failure which causes it to block motivation.

• The brains DMN (Default Mode Network) starts to fuel anxiety, while blocking the calming reflex that it has.

I felt Resilient:

Why:The calm environment that Key West offered me gave me a relaxing place to reflect.

The neurology behind it:

• Being in a peaceful setting calms the HPA axis, lowers cortisol, and decreases amygdala activity.

• Now, the default mode network can process previous stress, identify trends, and help with comprehension.

• The Hippocampus allows stress to be transformed into growth.