It's been said before, but it warrants repeating. Of all the jobs in the world, raising children is by far the hardest job in the history of the universe. And although all children present their own distinct challenges, I speak from experience when I say that high-achieving children have a rather unique way of adding a few degrees of difficulty to this already daunting task. I have the honor and the challenge of raising two high octane girls--one who is now a tween and one a teen.
Upon meeting my oldest daughter for the first time shortly after her birth, her pediatrician warned me, "Get ready. This one is going to be a challenge to raise." Something in her eyes, he said. But for the most part, for both of my girls, preschool and elementary school went pretty smoothly. Spirited conversations occurred from time to time about interesting topics, such as whether school "made sense" and whether memorizing multiplication tables was pointless because, "really mom, who is ever without a calculator?" (translation from child-speak to adult: calculator = smart phone). We also had (and continue to have) rather fervent debates over the difference between a "constitutional right" and an "earned privilege." But all in all, although they kept me on my toes, there wasn't a huge amount of turbulence during grade school.
Both girls flew relatively easily through 1st through 5th with high grades and enough after-school activities to keep life moving at a steady clip. Their curiosity and varied interests--play dates, Girl Scouts, singing, softball, drama, horseback riding, ice skating, acting, basketball, art, and dance--required a bit of juggling, but my husband and I agreed that kids were being asked to "specialize" or "distinguish themselves" way too early in their lives. Why not let them explore options, have fun, stress less?
Then came middle school ...
I thought that maybe by the time middle school came around, my oldest would have focused her interests slightly, but that wasn't the case. If anything, they expanded. Although she was taking all honors classes and a math class that was two years above her grade level, she was adamant about remaining in Girl Scouts, voice lessons, horseback riding, and community softball. And she wanted to add the middle school musical, Junior Thespians competition, the school chorus, and French to her schedule as well.
Occasionally, I wondered if she was taking on too much, but how do you define "too much" for a high-achiever? After all, she was earning excellent grades in an advanced curriculum, had a great group of friends, seemed to be enjoying her out-of-school activities, and was showing no signs of stress other than normal nervousness before big tests, softball games, and fine arts performances. So she and I made an agreement that as long as she kept her grades up and seemed to be balancing everything well, she could keep participating in her other activities.
Then, the email arrived ...
Dear Dr. Bourg Carter,
As you know, I am VERY fond of your daugher; she is the star of the play we are now doing and is fantastic ... however, as someone who is certified as a guidance counselor and has two graduate degrees in psychology, I cannot help but notice how stressed she is. She is a straight A student in gifted classes ... yet she is constantly worrying and stressing over grades. I mean, on one quiz, she was upset because it was "only a 93"-- the irony is that we cannot give anyone an A+, so it matters little if it is a 93 or a 99. Why is she so worried??? I am worried about her being so so so worried. I would like to see her relax and enjoy her beauty, humor, and intelligence instead of being so stressed. She's a wonderful girl. Can we talk about this?
Ms. [Teacher]
Can we talk about this? Absolutely! The mom in me kicked in right away. Was I in denial? Was I one of these clueless moms whose child was falling apart before her eyes, but I couldn't see it? I made an appointment with the teacher right away. But as my mind started running through every moment from her birth to the email's arrival, trying to figure out how I, the psychologist in the family, could have missed something so significant, the psychologist in me kicked in.
I really wasn't seeing any of this "so so so worried" stuff going on. I obviously wasn't with her during the school day, but I had breakfast and dinner with her almost every day. I went to her practices. I watched her games and musicals and everything else she was involved in. She was intense. No question. She hated when she was off key on even one note, but she loved singing and performing. She didn't like losing, but was gracious about it. She hated to make mistakes, but in the end would always grudgingly agree that not a lot of learning happens if you don't make mistakes. And yes, she got upset when she made anything less than an A on a test, but only because she knew she was capable of making an A. Isn't that what high-achievers do? Set their bars high and push themselves to reach those heights?
I also suspected when we got right down to it that my daughter's view of relaxing and her teacher's view of relaxing were going to be about as far apart as my view and my daughter's view on the constitutional right to have a Facebook account. I knew from my work with high-achieving women that traditional stress-relieving activities (i.e., yoga, massage, vacationing on the sand along the beach) didn't always work for them, and I had seen the same thing with my girls over the years. Their idea of relaxing was building this elaborately complex model of something they had read about in a book, or figuring out solutions to mind-melting puzzles. It was definitely not relaxing to enjoy their "beauty, humor, and intelligence."
Of course, when she got home from school that day and I asked her how her day went, she gave the typical thirteen-year-old answer. "Fine." She had a snack and got right to her homework as usual. Everything seemed fine. So I asked ...
"Is anything bothering you at school?"
"No, why?" she answered, not even looking up from her homework.
"Are you worried about your grades?"
She lifted her eyes, suspiciously. "Mom, I have straight As. What's there to worry about?"
"Well, did you recently get upset in Ms. [Teacher's] class over a quiz grade?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. When I make stupid mistakes and I know I could have done better, I get a little upset. What's the big deal?"
Hmm. Good question ... and one I asked the teacher when I met with her the following day. But no matter how many ways I asked the question, in the end, the teacher couldn't get past the point that "no one should be disappointed with a 93," even a high-achieving child, and those who are are stressed--end of story.
At least that was the end of her story. It was the beginning of mine ...
The "Can we talk about this?" experience had sparked some questions in my mind about high-achieving children and stress, questions I had previously only considered in the context of my work with high-achieving women and the stressors they experience in today's success-driven world. Questions like, is it a "big deal" for high-achieving kids to get upset over a high test grade because they know they could have scored higher? More importantly, does getting upset over disappointing (as their brain defines it) or imperfect performances equate to unhealthy stress in children, or does it better prepare them for life in the twenty-first century? Does the intensity at which these superkids approach life have any serious long-term consequences? And if so, how do they relax? Do traditional relaxation strategies work well for them, or are they like many high-achieving women who need their own high octane methods of relaxing to feel better?
