Growing up, I never really had issues in school. I went, played the part, minded my business and went back home. But there was a certain subject that always seemed to give me the most trouble.

Math.

I remember during parent-teacher conferences in third and fourth grade my teachers would praise me (almost) the entire time, saying how quiet and timid I was. But wow is she a hard worker. Then we would look at my grades and some of the work I had done, and math was nothing but a glaring sore spot. My teachers would talk about how frustrated I would get while working on fractions and multiplication (man I HATED times tables with a passion in fourth grade). They said if I worked and pushed myself a little harder, I could be so much better. I was just a little behind.

Then once my parents were aware of my issues with math, they would try to help me the best they could (my dad in particular). Hours on end were spent at the kitchen table. It would start off OK, until I got stuck. My parents would try to walk me through it, but no matter how much I stared at the problem, and no matter how many times I would try to work through it, nothing was clicking at all. A calm evening would quickly evolve into tears and screaming matches. I started getting really confused.

How could I be putting in this much time to understand something for it to just not get through to me at all?

Am I dumb?

A bad student?

Do I not try hard enough?

How could something like math and school be this frustrating?

How come others that don't try as hard are STILL getting this more than me?

Flash forward a decade to high school. I didn't come from the most academically inclined high school, and only a handful of my graduating class even tried going to college at all. Classes were easy for me (math still wasn't great, but I usually plowed through with B's. Plus, to be honest, I really didn't care much anymore), but for the most part, most of my peers were very nonchalant about school, which lead to most of the teachers reciprocating the same attitude towards school as well. Plus, my high school wasn't exactly in the best part of town, so a lot of focus was on work anyways.

But there was one class in particular that changed a lot of my perspective on school: AP biology. The teacher who taught it was much more sensitive and aware of some of the issues that students were dealing with, especially moneywise. She was also aware of how some very impassionate teachers resulted in most students being simply very academically behind. Her class was her way of changing things for the ones that took it.

This teacher knew that the material would be some of the hardest/most challenging material we'd ever been exposed to in our lives. Simply put, there was no getting A's if you didn't work. The class was really tough, but it was a challenge my brain definitely needed at the time. Her class was my lifeline and the only class I took in high school that showed me the value in academia and what it truly meant to build yourself up as a student. The material was fascinating to me though, as I had never really been exposed to much science before, and I was completely unaware of how complex, intricate and beautiful it could truly be. Little did I realize how much her class would end up changing my life.

Because of AP biology, I decided to tackle a biology major and pre-med co-major. Medicine had seemed glamorous to me since I was a little girl, plus I liked science, so why not? I really didn't know what I was getting myself into though. I thought I had the hang of bio from AP biology, but I was so wrong. I watched a lot of the other pre-meds that I was friends with/studied with swim while I drowned. I would read and read as much as I could, but during the tests I floundered. Something wasn't clicking at all. Going to office hours was just sheer embarrassment: The professors could tell how behind I was. Chemistry wasn't even a part of the picture my first year of college, as I knew there was no single way I'd be capable of taking it at all, so after the first few weeks, I withdrew.

However, towards the end of the semester, I went to one of my bio professor's office hours (we met at a coffee shop this time). He started asking me questions about the material. I was already anxious and weary: I can't continuously make a fool out of myself in front of professors anymore. He'd ask some questions, and I'd think for a minute. But I'd answer right.

Oh, my god… I'm getting this?

This continued for a bit. By the end, he looked me in the eye and stated, "You really know this stuff, I promise. You just have this potential that you're almost scared of. But I'm just really proud of you because you're trying so hard."

That felt nice to hear, especially after a terrible semester. Despite feeling really academically behind, maybe the work I was putting in wasn't for nothing anymore. Little did I know how much that coffee meeting would change me.

Do I catch onto things as fast as some? Absolutely not. And it honestly took me a while to realize that I deserve just as much as my peers because I work just as hard as them, if not harder. It completely negates the work, the tears and the effort I put into doing something I really wanted to do. I spent so many nights telling myself I wasn't good enough. But eventually, I decided to try embracing another life philosophy.

Maybe if we saw ourselves as individuals capable of changing and growing and improving, less importance would be placed on innate ability that quite frankly a lot of us don't have. We all have things we can catch onto faster than others. And there's no denying that at all. But to get what you want you're going to need to put in hours of work and effort regardless of how talented you actually are at things. Laziness and wasted potential are hard things for me to consider at this point in my life simply because of how much effort I'm putting into developing my career. Right now my GPA is great, I'm in two research labs, and none of it would have happened without my drive to get over the typical freshman hump.