Last week, I dropped one of my courses, effectively putting me at the minimum number of credit hours that students at Rice University are permitted to take.

I felt awful about it.

Growing up, I was always labeled as an overachiever, striving to take the greatest number of classes possible, and doing my best to place into the most difficult courses offered at my schools. It was what defined me: my grades, my overload of schoolwork, and the fact that I was able to handle it— or at least, that I managed to convince everyone that I could.

I can’t remember the last time that I didn’t feel overwhelmed by schoolwork or extracurriculars. My main goal was always to ensure that people thought that I always knew what I was doing and had it all under control, no problem. This mostly resulted from the fact that early on in my academic career, pretty much as soon as I was labeled the “smart” kid, it would become a huge and noteworthy deal if I was to either ask for help or admitted that I didn’t understand something. I learned that the only help I was allowed to get was from my older brother, textbooks, or the internet— because if I let on that I was confused, everyone would know, and with that would come the inevitable comment: “What do you mean you don’t get it, you’re Anna”. Nothing ever made me feel more pressured than these expectations that were constantly being placed on me, both by my parents and my peers.

Coming to college, I thought that I had it all planned out: take as many credits as possible, take difficult classes, and never let anyone know if I ended up struggling to keep up. That ideal came crashing down pretty quickly.

In the first week of classes, I decided, responsibly, that maybe 18 credits was a stretch for a first semester freshman who was both trying to figure things out as far as a major goes and dealing with some personal issues. I begrudgingly settled on 15. It was an upsetting thing to do because I could hear the voices of peers and adults in my head clear as day, with their constant criticisms: “Anna just dropped a class?” “It was too much for Anna?” “Why aren’t you pushing yourself? You know you can do better.”

Things got worse a couple of weeks later when I realized that my course-load, although it was not the maximum, still felt like too much at the present. My mind was constantly focused on other things not relating to my classes, and I found myself too drained— mentally, emotionally, and physically— to actually be able to apply myself to my work. The time that I did spend focusing on classes took away from efforts that I knew I should be making with regards to my personal health. This was especially frustrating because I knew the reasons as to why I wasn’t doing as well academically as I knew that I could. I knew all too well that this could be remedied by spending some time improving my health, but I was too discouraged by my less-than-ideal grades and the fact that working on my wellbeing would mean sacrificing even more time that I could be spending doing schoolwork— both things which, in turn, further negatively affected my sense of self-worth and motivation to get better. It was a constant see-saw of pros and cons, successes and setbacks, reasons to recover and lack thereof.

Eventually, I realized that I just couldn’t do it. If I didn’t figure out some sort of compromise, I would have to fully sacrifice one or the other, health or school, and eventually, both.

I hated the walk from my first class Thursday morning to my second. I hated walking up to the professor and telling him that I had to drop the class. I hated knowing that for the first time in my life, I was doing as little as possible in school. Most of all, I hated knowing that I had to make this decision because I hadn’t taken the initiative to improve my health sooner.

A week later, I’m still disheartened and upset that I’m taking the minimum number of credits. I’’m disappointed in the fact that I had to leave a class halfway through the semester. But I also feel relieved. For the first time in what seems like forever, I feel like I have room to breathe, that I can fully apply myself to everything I’m involved in, instead of only giving my all to one or two classes and then struggling to keep up with the rest.

I realize now that sometimes, you have to make sacrifices and come to a compromise, painful as it may be. There are certain situations that are simply out of your control, and you can’t change them in the blink of an eye, as much as you wish you could. In your life, there are going to be times when you have to make decisions and prioritize things differently than you used to. Maybe you spent your whole life trying to be on top, too. If it comes to a point where you no longer are, or where you need to admit that you can’t manage it at the present, that’s okay. We weren’t built to always be the best, we weren’t built to be constantly working and overworking. Life needs balance, and most of all, it needs stability. I'm doing my best to remind myself that people aren't going to think less of me or call me lazy for putting my wellbeing ahead of school. I'm working on accepting that this isn't me sacrificing my future successes or my dreams. It's me ensuring that they can happen.

Yes, I am taking 12 credit hours in the first semester of my freshman year. Yes, that is the complete opposite of what I had anticipated. But in making this difficult but necessary decision, I’m ensuring that I can have both school and my health. Once I get better, I can once again immerse myself in my studies and take more credit hours in the upcoming semesters of my college career. Right now, I’m giving up a little bit of my original plan so that I can do something that will guarantee that I never have to give up all of it.

It’s okay to focus on your wellbeing. It’s okay to not always be the overachiever that people labeled you as. Most of all, it’s okay to admit that you’re not OK.