Things I’m Trying to Unlearn from High School.
- Grainne McCague
- 8 minutes ago
- 4 min read
Because who I was at 17 doesn’t get to decide who I am at 20.
I sit here on my high horse at twenty years old, looking back at my younger self. By no means have I cracked the code of life in just two decades, but I can see how much I’ve shifted since those teenage hallways. As I head into my final year of college, I can’t help but reflect on all the
lessons I’ve had to deliberately unlearn ideas that stuck to my 17-year-old brain like gum on the sidewalk. College has forced me to scrape them off and walk into this chapter without old biases, expectations, or so-called “normalities.”
It’s funny: from a young age, we’re taught to follow directions and obey authority. We are simple creatures, and as B.F. Skinner taught, behavior sticks when it’s reinforced. So if you want to unlearn something — whether it’s a habit, a mindset, or a belief — you have to change what’s rewarding it. And let’s be real: adults aren’t perfect, and neither are the lessons they pass down. Growing up means unpacking and rewriting so much of what we were conditioned to accept.
Being a people pleaser: High school taught me to be agreeable: keep teachers happy, make parents proud, hold the friend group together. Smile, say yes, don’t ruffle feathers. College taught me that people-pleasing is draining, and often leaves me pleasing everyone except myself. Now I’m unlearning that my worth depends on everyone else’s comfort. My real friendships thrive more when I protect my energy for the people I truly love.
Thinking one exam grade defines me: One bad test score in high school felt like a neon sign blinking “failure.” I believed a single number summed up my intelligence, potential, and future. Now, I remind myself: one grade doesn’t decide my whole story. It’s just a snapshot. Not the entire film reel. Learning happens in between the tests, too.
It doesn’t help that high school drilled the GPA obsession into us. I remember how those three little numbers felt like a seal of approval or a scarlet letter when stacked against my classmates. This taught me that comparison really is the thief of joy. Behind every A+ were sleepless nights, frantic Quizlet cramming, and anxiety attacks before big tests — but for all the wrong reasons. Somewhere along the way, I stopped learning out of genuine curiosity and started working hard just to keep up, to match scores, to feel like I belonged. I sacrificed wonder for approval. Now, I’m leaving that mindset behind and reclaiming learning for me, not for the scoreboard.
The highlight reel: High school me spent hours mindlessly scrolling highlight reels: perfect selfies, luxury trips, curated snippets of everyone’s “best life.” It took a while to see how fake and staged it all was. Now, I don’t just remind myself, I unfollow. I swapped influencers for artists, storytellers, and creators who inspire me instead of making me compare. If I’m going to be glued to my phone (and let’s be real, we all are), I’d rather feed my mind content that sparks creativity instead of insecurity.
Equating busy = success: In high school, a jam-packed schedule made you “important.” Sports, clubs, AP classes. In other words, burnout became a weird badge of honor. These days, I know being busy and being successful are not the same thing. Rest is productive. Space to breathe, think, and just be is what actually fuels real achievement. It’s okay to stop overcommitting.
Monetizing success: I used to think success was only as shiny as the paycheck attached. If it didn’t make money, was it even valuable? I felt pressure to go into finance because my family told me it would be more profitable. However, I couldn’t abandon the creative spark my five-year-old self had lit. I thrive on projects, curating ideas, and collaborating with others — all things marketing lets me do. Trading all that for a shiny paycheck never felt authentic. Now, I’m unlearning the idea that success is measured only by money, and instead choosing work that lights me up inside.
Believing friendships must last forever: High school friendships felt like blood oaths. Losing one felt like betrayal or failure. I’m unlearning that now. Some friendships end naturally, and that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to stay forever. People come and go, and the right ones grow with you.
Safety nets: In high school, someone always reminded you of due dates or granted last-minute extensions if needed. College flipped that script fast. Professors don’t chase you down or hold your hand — they expect you to read the syllabus, plan ahead, and own your responsibilities. I’ve had to unlearn the comfort of safety nets and learn how to be accountable.
Comparing my timeline to everyone else’s: In high school, everyone’s milestones felt synchronized: same classes, same prom, same college applications. It was easier to analyze when there were differences. Ironically, the comparison game doesn’t completely vanish after high school — it unfortunately hides behind polished LinkedIn posts. Initially, I caught myself gripping my phone tighter when I saw the back-to-back announcements: “I’m so excited to share my new position at…”. My brain becomes a pinball machine of doubts and self-criticism. I’m, like many, my own harshest critic, and quieting that voice is a daily practice. I am still learning to be happy for other people’s wins instead of viewing them as a loss for me. We’re all on different timelines, and mine doesn’t have to look like yours to be right.