Gifted Kid Syndrome
My mother won't stop calling my oldest a genius.
That may seem like a humble-brag, and it is a little, but as a recovering Gifted Kid I can tell you how badly being known as brainy can mess you up. I'm trying to be really intentional about how to approach these topics with my own kids. Like everything in life there are tradeoffs.
My issue was that being the smartest kid became my identity. I couldn't just get good grades and ace every test, it had to be easy for me to do it. A 98 without trying was way better than a 100 that I worked hard to get. I had to show that I was head and shoulders smarter than every other kid in the class and I had to do it every single day. I was very popular.
To her credit, every year my Mom would tell me that one of these days I was going to have to buckle down and work. Things wouldn't be so easy in middle school, or in high school, or in AP classes, or in college. Teachers tried to tell me this as well. My response was always that I would believe them when I saw that is was real. From my perspective there was a boy who cried wolf situation happing here. You all told me that middle school was going to be much harder than fifth grade and it just was not, so maybe we'll just wait and see if I actually need to buckle down this year.
As every recovering Gifted Kid knows, you can only keep that racket going for so long. In college I found people who were so smart that they made me feed dumb. I also found coursework that was honestly challenging. I couldn't just sit in class and passively absorb the lessons with half of my attention. I had to do the reading, study for exams, write papers with more than 24 hours before they were due. I hated it.
I think if I had been less wrapped up in my identity as a Gifted Kid then I would have realized the opportunity that was before me. I was surrounded by people who were smarter than I was. That's an amazing place to grow. I was finally being challenged to work and stretch the limits of my capacity. I could find out what I was really capable of.
Of course none of that happened. I leaned hard into the low effort side of the equation, adopting a stylish nihilism to go with my B- average. I skipped classes and handed in hastily composed papers. I was careful to schedule classes so that the worst of my hangover had passed before they began. I did enough to scrape by and graduate, but squandered the promise of college. I neither found my calling nor myself.
I did eventually pull my head out of my butt. I found a job that turned into career. I figured out how to work hard and teach myself things. I stopped thinking of myself as a genius that never lived up to his potential. I started thinking of myself as someone with grit.
What does all this mean for my kids?
I'm really not sure. My parents tried to tell me that I needed to work hard. They tried to tell me that things wouldn't always be so easy. I didn't listen. Maybe if I had been a little less praised when I was young I wouldn't have had this toxic self concept. It's easy to go too far the other way, too. If I never tell my boys when something they do is clever or impressive, I'll saddle them with low self esteem or an all consuming drive to earn approval that will burn them out.
I should do more reading on this. When I do maybe I'll write a follow up with what I learned.