After eight years, five days a week, from eight thirty till three, my school was bound to be a place of comfort. And it was. I knew every corner, every face and every piece of playground equipment at the school. I had participated in all the school clubs, sports teams and musicals, and through all these things I had created a name from myself. If you said the name “Ella Harvey” the thought of a confident, and happy girl would pop into everyone’s head. I was a leader. But during my sixth grade year, the person inside of me was much different from that glowing character that the community saw; beneath the surface I was crumbling.

The fact that I knew everything was not always a good thing. Familiar can turn to boring very quickly. For example, by sixth grade, my class of a meager twenty was feeling rather small. I had one very close friend, but other than that, I hated pretty much everyone else. I am not a terrible, anti-social person, I was just bored of the people that I had spent 8 years with. This feeling was amplified by the small number of people in my class giving me no space to spread my wings. It was suffocating. And this was not a rare feeling in this class. Everyone despised everyone else. The fuse of the sixth grade class was shortening, and it was just a matter of time before we combusted. In this respect, I could not wait for the relief that I thought moving to a different school would bring.

Unfortunately, the road to a different school was a long one; outplacement was upon us. During the hours and days and weeks that I spent attempting to make myself into a vision of perfection, the possibility of me actually making it out of the process alive seemed very slim. Applying to six different schools, with six different lists of essays and six different interviews was probably not the best idea. Behind the pile of unfinished essays, upcoming interview appointments and tests I felt small and inadequate. Being a person that sets high expectations for myself, at the finish of each of these deciding moments I felt as if I could have done better, and that feeling ate away at me. It was all too much and I was tired.

One afternoon following my first practice standardized test, the calm and collected shell that I had tried so hard to keep up fell. As my mother and I walked down to our car after school, I tried hard to keep the feelings of frustration and disappointment within me, adorning my face with a mask of contentment. But my mom could not be fooled.

A simple “Ella, what’s wrong?” was all it took for my cover to be busted.
I collapsed on the asphalt in front of her. All I had to do was open my mouth and the stress, and frustration that had been building up for months came flowing out of me like a rushing river that had broken through a dam. For the next ten minutes, I filled my mother’s ears with complaints.

I first described the test that I had just taken. Everything went wrong, there was not enough time, I got stuck on every other problem, both of which made me stressed and prevented me from answering the other questions to my full ability. This feeling of panic was augmented by the calmness of my peers that surrounded my desk. Was I the only one that was finding this test extremely difficult? The uncomfortable conversations that followed the test answered that question followed me.

“How did it go?” one of my classmates would ask.

And everybody else would answer something like, “it was so easy!”

Either a lot of people were lying, or I was an idiot, and being the pretty pessimistic person that I am, of course I went with the latter.

It was not just the test that I felt I wasn’t measuring up to, but everyone’s expectations as well. As a sixth grader, there was a huge amount of pressure to be a perfect student, and as my practice test performance demonstrated, I wasn’t. These were the people that had supported me for 8 years, I did not want to let them down and the idea that I was was killing me. And if I couldn’t make the people that I have known for so long proud, then how was I going to make a name for myself at a different school with people I have never met before?
My mom replied, “you are too hard on yourself. Get your confidence up and you’ll do fine. You’re smart and no matter what you do we will be proud of you.”

It felt good to hear this.
After this breakdown, my year started to look up. I signed up for a preparatory standardized test course that I hoped would give me more confidence during the actual test. When I walked in to the office on my first day of tutoring, I was surprised to find that the person coming out of the classroom as I was going in, was another person in my class. I think we were both excited to see each other, realizing that we were not alone in our struggle. By the day of the test, I was prepared. I handled my time well, and flew through the problems. After the assessment, I could happily participate in the “that was easy!” conversations, and was able to proudly walk to the car with zero breakdowns. I was not the idiot that I had previously viewed myself as, I just needed to believe in myself a little more, and everything would work out alright in the end.

I brought this newfound confidence with me throughout the rest of the outplacement process. The unrealistic mask of perfection that I attempted to wear earlier in the year was no longer necessary. I just acted like myself. Once I did this, I found that the process so much more stress free than I had made it out to be. I no longer dreaded the interviews, in fact I actually looked forward to them. As for the essays, I cannot go as far as to say I enjoyed writing them, but crying mid-paper was no longer a given.

Before I knew it, March had arrived, the month where my class and I would find out if our hard work had paid off. I checked my mailbox everyday hoping for envelopes with school crests adorning them. This is one of the few instances where thick is infinitely better than skinny. One afternoon I saw a glimpse of the most beautiful maroon I have ever seen leaking out of my mailbox, an acceptance letter ! My mother and I had a two man dance party on our porch, and everything seemed good in the world. I could finally breathe again.

That summer I met some of my new classmates. They were some of the nicest, smartest and funniest people I had ever met. I was welcomed with open arms as we hung out and laughed as if we had known each other forever. I looked forward to my future with these wonderful people.

I met my new friends again on the first day of school. The hallways were wider, I had seven different classes to locate, ninety new faces to learn and seven new teachers to figure out. It was a little overwhelming. But within several weeks, I learned to love the hallways, the size of my class that I could finally spread my wings in and my bold teachers that would sometimes decide to wear ponchos to class or gallop around the room whenever they felt like it. With hard work, I knew I would feel just as at home at my new school as I had at my elementary school soon enough.

This process was the first of many great transitions in my life. It was definitely difficult, but by making it through it I gained respect for myself. I learned that I can make it through tough situations like these and that it is up to me to make the best of it because nothing is perfect. And here I am today, at the school that I love surrounded by wonderful friends and teachers that I adore. Already my peers are discussing college outplacement which sounds daunting, but because of my successful transition to Sidwell I am sure I will make it through, and learn about myself in the process.