Stripped:

With the beginning of the end (senior year) coming around, whether we want it to or not, it becomes harder and harder to run away from the…..c word. Applying to college is something most young adults fear, the fear of trying to sum up the purpose of our life and your efforts into a few boxes is consuming. As we know, SAT scores and our grade point averages play a significant role in the school we get admitted to. Yet I don’t think enough people talk about the toll these submissions can have on not only your academic confidence but your overall sense of self-worth. We are taught that the numbers we work oh so hard far, will open doors, and push us to achieve our dreams, but no one told us about what happens when our results have us questioning our worth. It is without a doubt that each student has poured countless hours into their school work, yet with the competition becoming harder each day, and constant lowering of acceptance rates, it would be easy for admissions offices to look past all of our efforts. “I don’t want to look at something that determines me so completely.”(pg 173) This quote from The Handmaid’s Tale, when Offred reflects on her own powerlessness, captures exactly how I feel when I see my test scores. Our worth is so much more than what numbers can represent. There is no world in which a human being—who they are and what they stand for—can be truly seen through numbers alone. What these numbers actually show us, specifically the SATs, is how long we can focus for. This had never been pointed out to me until I began my SAT tutoring, when I realized that my ADHD was going to affect not only my preparation for the test, but the outcome itself. Just as Gilead sorts people into handmaids, commanders, and marthas, our system creates its own rigid categories: the “1600 SAT score” students and the “4.0 GPA” students. The systematic process of labeling—both the characters in The Handmaid’s Tale and real-life students—is damaging because it strips away identity, reducing complex human beings to a single defining characteristic. “My name isn’t Offred, I have another name, which nobody uses now because it’s forbidden. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, your name is like your telephone number, useful only to others; but what I tell myself is wrong, it does matter.”(pg 84) Offred’s loss of her name reveals what happens when we’re reduced to our statistic. The difference is only in what we’re reduced to: the handmaids are stripped down to their bodies and fertility, while we students become nothing more than standardized exam scores and every grade we’ve received since we were 14. In both cases, everything that makes us who we are—our struggles, growth, is lost. My grades aren’t perfect. I can’t say I know many students whose are. But my intent is not to overlook the students who have worked tirelessly to achieve the numbers they have. It is to acknowledge our flawed academic system that encourages us to strip away our humanity in exchange for numbers. Because my grades are less a representation of myself and more a representation of what I’ve overcome, and the common app with never have enough room for my whole story.