Standing in the Storm by Aashritha

You know that feeling when life hits you and you’re pretty sure gravity has a personal vendetta against you? Yeah, welcome to high school. 

It’s like the universe decided to throw a storm at everyone at once: failing tests, awkward social moments, and teachers who act like “the assignment was explained clearly” is English. 

Trust me, I’ve been there—the late-night cram sessions, the mental breakdowns over one chemistry problem, and that one group project where you do everything because apparently” teamwork” means “you work.” 

But here’s the plot twist: the storm isn’t your mortal enemy. Nope, it’s actually a weirdly strict life coach that yells at you so you’ll grow up without moving to Antarctica to become a penguin. 

According to the American Institute of Stress, 75% of high school students report experiencing boredom, anger, sadness, fear, or stress in school, which basically means three out of four of us are surviving on caffeine and denial. 

But stress, as awful as it feels, is proof that you care—that you’re still in the fight. As Viktor Frankl once said, “What is to give light must endure burning.” That quote is right? Right?… Because high school is basically that, learning to burn a little without going up in flames. 

There are three stages to surviving it all: 

• The Thunder
• The Rain 
• The Quiet

Thunder comes first. And it’s loud. Like, “Why did I even sign up for AP Chemistry.” That’s your pain making an entrance, dramatic as ever. It shows up when you bomb a quiz, spill your lunch on someone important, or just realize that your “study for 5 minutes” plan somehow failed. 

I’m not saying this as a motivational speaker. I’m saying it as someone who cried over a rate law problem at 1 a.m. I remember my thunder vividly. I’d worked so hard on a project only to watch the grade slap me in the face like a wet sock. 

That moment wasn’t disappointing—it was a full on cinematic collapse. And the worst part was I knew I wasn’t the only one who crashed like that. 

Everyone has a memory that still tingles: the test that went wrong, the class presentation that was derailed, the teacher who called you out in front of the entire class and you still have nightmares about till this day. 

Winston Churchill once stated, “ Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it’s the courage to continue that counts.”

Moments like that don’t just bruise your grade; they bruise your confidence. But they also mean something important. You’re tired. You cared. And that effort, even when it doesn’t sparkle on paper, still counts.

The Rain. Not the soft, romantic lovey dovey kind that poets romanticize over; it’s the rain that waits until the exact moment you forget your umbrella. 

This is that long, messy middle: studying even though your eyes are burning, dragging yourself to class after a night that went completely wrong, pushing forward when your motivation has curled up and died somewhere under your desk. 

This is the part no pep talk prepares you for, that part where you learn that success isn’t one giant victory; it’s a thousand tiny“just keep going” choices that no one applauds. 

And honestly, even Heimler (yes, the AP YouTube guy who saves over 1 million high school students in May) would tell you that mastery isn’t magic; it’s consistency in the story. 

Every teacher, every parent, every exhausted college student knows the grind because nobody makes it through school without their share of squall. But even when it feels like you’re slogging through knee deep mud, something real is happening. 

Neuroscience shows that challenge literally strengthens neural pathways—skills refine, memory deepens, and resilience forms as the brain adapts . You grow stronger with every attempt. And even when progress feels invisible, it is undeniably there.

With time the typhoon settles into something softer. 

You don’t realize it at first until one random afternoon you recognize something that once overwhelmed you no longer does. Finally understanding triggers the same fear or struggle. Maybe it’s a type of math problem, walking into class without panicking or realizing you didn’t need a whole pep talk just to study. 

That type of quiet is earned. 

Every teacher and older student knows this moment . . . when the strom doesn’t disappear, but you’re no longer overwhelmed by it. 

Science makes it simple; your brain grows through effort. Every hard moment builds new strength, even if you never notice it happening. 

The downpour didn’t break you, it refashioned you into someone steadier, someone stronger, someone more capable than you knew. 

Real glow ups aren’t loud; they happen quietly, while you’re just trying to get through the day. 

You don’t just survive the storm, you discover yourself in it . And what you find is the strength you didn’t know you had.