I'm pretty sure I failed an exam last week.

Those that know me are probably rolling their eyes at that statement. I'm notorious for screaming "I failed" from the rooftops while later finding that my results were quite the opposite. My family is often put in the position of consoling me between exhausted sighs while I wrestle with the anxiety. I attribute this attitude, though, to "high expectations." I simply do not expect anything less than perfection from myself; especially when it comes to academic achievement.

My family has always labeled me as "smart." From diapers to now, I was expected to do well in school, to know things, to engage in conversation on topics many do not discuss regularly. Much of this is more than likely due to the fact that I was seemingly intellectually 'ahead:' When I was four, I could name all 50 states, and nearly all of their capitals. By kindergarten, I was reading the "Little House on the Prairie" while my friends learned the alphabet. In elementary school, I decided to take on Mark Twain "for fun." I was an over achiever. I wanted to know things. I wanted to learn. While I may have never seen myself as "smart" I always held on to my passion for knowing and understanding more.

But I think I might have hit a point somewhere along the way where I began expecting myself to achieve. It didn't take me very long. I remember, very clearly, lying on my bedroom floor in the third grade because I had been placed in a faster-paced math class and had received my very first 'lower-than-an-A' grade.

You are dumb. You are worthless.

Third grade. The first time I remember giving myself a mental 'beat-down,' was in third grade. Over a math test. I remember lying there, so insanely disappointed. But the tears soaked into my bedroom carpet were not just tears of disappointment, but rather, the wish that I was anyone but myself. Because really, who was I if I wasn't the smart girl?

I wish I could say that 15 years later, I would have answered that question. I wish I could say that I don't feel these things anymore. I wish I could say that it's not even worse now than it was then.

Last week I turned in my test and sobbed.

You are dumb. You are worthless.

I sobbed like I was eight years old all over again. I got in my car and I laid my head against the steering wheel, so desperately wishing I could crawl out of my own body. How could I have possibly allowed myself to do this poorly? I would lose my chance at graduating this semester. I would lose my GPA I've worked so hard to obtain. I would lose out on my own identity. Because if I fail, I have let the world around me know that I've been a complete phony this entire time. I'm not the smart girl.

I'm not really sure who I am.

But this is the problem, isn't it? I've read books on this very idea. I've heard lectures and talks at church about allowing ourselves to see our identity through the lens of success rather than through the eyes of our maker. I've been warned of the phenomenon surrounding molding ourselves into a label. I have read testimonials of how people have attempted to fit themselves into a self-made box, and if they ever were to have deviated from this box, then they were nothing. I've known these things, but I've done them all anyway.

Last week, as I laid my head on the steering wheel, I let the disappointment in myself wash over me, like I typically do. I felt it all. And perhaps this is the melodramatic tale of a nerdy academic. Perhaps I'm the only one that faces this. But it was so insanely easy for me to see my whole self as nothing. It was so easy to disregard all the other aspects of my identity and focus solely on a characteristic. It was so easy for me to trade my "smart girl" identity for a "dumb" identity. It was so easy for me to forget that my identity isn't within these things at all, but rather in so many greater, deeper things.

By focusing on a "smart girl" persona, I have allowed myself to become superficial. I have disregarded my purpose in this world. I was not placed upon this earth to be smart. I was placed upon this Earth to be a Christ follower, an advocate, a light, a friend, and a family member. And with these roles, comes a whole slew of characteristics and circumstances that have allowed me to form my identity. My academic success is a mere fragment of that.

I realized these things mid-sob, with my head rested upon the wheel of my idling car: So what if I failed? Really. So. What.

I would continue living, I would continue breathing. I would wake up the next morning still in my body. I would still work on the next assignment just as hard. I would still have the same friends, the same family, the same purpose on this Earth. And these things do not change with the results of one test. My identity does not change with one test. Because my identity is not dependent on a test, or a grade, or my ability to recite a collection of academic research in under an hour. I am worthy of being loved, and it is not because of a number, but rather, because my life consists of a far greater purpose than mere performance.

I may not always be sure of who I am. I may forget, remember, and periodically forget again. But I can say for sure that I am not the smart girl. I'm Allison.