The Unlikeliest Toxic Relationship

When I was 17, I decided I wanted to be a human rights lawyer. Activism has always been a passion of mine, as anyone who knows me will tell you. At 18, I began researching the steps I needed to take to achieve this goal. Every blog, website, and person I consulted emphasized that law school is no easy feat. But what would you expect from “the noble profession”? Of course, it’s hard (sorry Elle Woods, it seems I have failed you).

For me, studying law has been difficult for unexpected reasons. The content itself is fascinating, and despite my friends and I often lamenting how much we hate law school, we frequently find ourselves discussing legal topics outside of class, as if they are our favorite subjects.

What has been truly challenging is the sense that the institution itself is against me. When I started school four years ago, I was anxious but ready to face the challenges of law school. I was eager to write essays again (can you guess my favorite subject in school?). At each new academic level, you’re told you won’t be spoon-fed anymore, so it’s no surprise that university is no exception.

What I wasn’t prepared for was having to teach myself the material. Don’t even ask me what the definition of law is because I couldn’t tell you! Law 131 (Introduction to Law) still gives me war flashbacks because of that particular lecturer. And it progressively got worse, yet somehow I made it to my fourth year. I didn’t walk or sprint; if anything, I crawled, through countless tears, therapy sessions, and panic attacks, and here’s why:

I know where I fell short, whether due to a lack of understanding of the modules or personal issues. I hold myself accountable for the situation I find myself in. What I don’t understand is why my efforts to be studious, even when I thought I understood the material, resulted in failure. The department talks about taking care of our mental health, but the same people refused to correct my marks, leading to undeserved retakes. One lecturer entered 1% as my final grade, a matter the deputy dean and HOD were aware of and promised to fix but never did. The HOD at the time even stopped replying to my emails and eventually told me to stop going to his office because they would get back to me. This same HOD wouldn’t let me sit for my supps despite providing valid reasons for missing them. He wouldn’t even respond to unrelated emails, making it very personal for me. Imagine my relief when I found out he was leaving the institution. So long, farewell, and adieu.

Now, I find myself in a similar situation. Despite providing my reasoning and evidence for missing exams, I’m being told it’s not enough (in different words, of course). This has triggered panic attacks and recurring thoughts of dropping out. With my current academic standing, I question whether law was the right choice for me.

Admittedly, I have a deep-seated fear of failure, instilled in me from a very young age. I was told that to live a good life and ensure my family did too, I had to excel in school. There’s never been a Plan B or a hidden talent; academia is not only what I know but also what I love. My hopes and aspirations have always centered around this. But the toll it has taken on my mental health feels like the effects of a toxic relationship—the rejection, the failures, it’s all just too much. We don’t talk enough about the fact that students around the world continue to take their own lives due to academic stress.

We laugh at memes about crying while studying, but it’s not actually funny when it feels like this is your only shot, when it feels like what happens here and now determines the trajectory and success of your life.

Dear reader, I know it wouldn’t be the end of the world if things didn’t go according to plan. I know I can start over as many times as I want and reinvent myself. I know, I really do. I just… want to graduate. In the words of Denzel Washington, I’m leaving here with something. Preferably a degree, not my life.

The funny part is, I wouldn’t tell 17-year-old me to change her mind. My dreams haven’t changed, despite my defeatist attitude. A wise woman once told me that an anxious mind is a pessimistic mind (it was my therapist, and she wasn’t wrong). I just don’t know what to do anymore, and I’m tired of the imposter syndrome and unlucky streak.

Thanks for coming to my rant. Can you relate?