The Pressure to be Perfect at Breck

Walking into Breck the first day of freshman year, I could feel the heavy weight of expectations before I even stepped into my first class. I remember pushing open the glass doors in Salas Commons, the scent of warm bread toasting in the dining hall drifting toward me, and the bright smile of the women at the front desk greeting me, a small comfort against the nervous butterflies in my chest. High school has always been portrayed as a fresh start, a chance to grow and discover who I am. But almost immediately, I realized how quickly that fresh start tangled with the idea that you have to be flawless. At our school, being “good” doesn’t always seem enough.
Excellence at Breck is supposed to mean “Strive with integrity for the highest standards.” That’s a value I truly admire, and I think most Breck students agree with me. But when college lingers in the background of everything we do, the meaning shifts. It stops feeling like learning for curiosity or growth and starts to feel like rushing down a hallway lined with flashing screens of achievements, each one signaling what you “should” be doing next. Getting into a “good college” begins to feel like the only ticket to a future that really matters. In that environment, excellence turns into a competition of who got the highest grade, who’s taking the most advanced classes, or who does the most extracurricular activities. The pressure pulsates through the hallways, pushing us toward flawless results instead of genuine progress.
And it’s not just about academics, though. After school, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and drag it through the halls toward the Fieldhouse, each step heavy with the day’s weight. Practice is supposed to be a place where I can breathe and the noise of school fades. But even there perfection creeps in like a shadow. The sharp squeak of sneakers cuts across the tennis courts, the hollow lump of the ball smacking the net hangs in the air, and the coach’s high-pitched shouts pierce through the air, cutting through what little calm there was. They all remind you that one mistake isn’t just yours–it ripples across the team, in every expectant glance and every quiet judgement.
The truth is, perfection at Breck doesn’t stop there–it seeps into every corner of life, invisible but heavy. There’s pressure to drift through the right parties like a shadow, to wear clothes that scream status instead of comfort, to laugh at the right joke for the right person. Everyone walks the halls, heels clicking, backpacks thudding, schedules stacked high, smiles pasted on faces like heavy masks. Phones buzz relentlessly in pockets, whispers curl around lockers, and every glance feels like a spotlight, judging every move. Behind those masks, behind the noise and chaos, we’re fraying at the edges, as if a single, bad grade could unravel the future we’ve worked so hard to build.
But maybe perfection doesn’t have to feel like a weight pushing down on us in every place. At Breck, it could be the warmth of sunlight spilling across the dining hall during lunch, the chatter of friends bouncing off the high ceilings, or the scent of freshly mowed grass drifting through open windows. It could be the thrill of a rally on the tennis courts or the quiet, steady rhythm of pencils scratching across papers in study hall. These are moments where connection lives, where the pressure to be “great” softens, and where we remember that school can be messy, alive, and human–not just a checklist of achievements.
Even in the midst of pressure and expectation, Breck is alive with subtle, overlooked moments that all blend together into a rhythm that is uniquely ours. Amid all the striving and expectation, these tiny moments stick in your memory, reminding you that life here is layered and complex, full of energy but also moments of quiet. Breck is more than grades or schedules–it’s a living place where each sound, scent, and movement quietly shapes the story of who we are becoming.