I Was Not My Best Self When It Mattered Most
My Board Exam Journey
The night before the board exam, I listened to my own heartbeat.
The room was quiet. My eyes were closed but sleep would not come. I could hear my heartbeat more clearly, loud enough to make me wonder if something was wrong. And there was actually. My stomach hurt. My body was tired and I could not feel at ease.
It was September 19, our only break after a full week of final coaching in Davao City. We had returned to Tagum the night before and we were supposed to have another final run-through for our major subject that Saturday. But we chose not to go. We thought we needed to rest. I thought I needed to give my body and mind one last chance to breathe before the exam.
For most of the day, everything was calm. I revisited my materials until around four in the afternoon. Later, we went to see our examination venue. There was something solemn about being there. And the walk was also a breath of fresh air. It was quiet, ordinary, but I could already feel something inside me becoming nervous.
Tomorrow was no longer far away.
It was right there.
That night, we decided to sleep early. Around eight, we prayed. I prayed for a long time. I asked God to guide me, to give me strength, and to let everything go smoothly.
Then I lay down.
I closed my eyes and tried to rest.
But my mind had other plans. As it has always been.
At first, it was just my heartbeat. Then one thought came after another.
What if I could not sleep?
What if I woke up feeling worse?
What if my mind became blank?
What if the things I studied suddenly disappeared the moment I saw the questions?
Then came the strange little thoughts that only seem to exist at night.
I imagined the alarm ringing while I was still exhausted. I imagined myself sitting in the examination room, staring at a question I should know but somehow could not remember. I would suddenly remember a topic I had barely reviewed and convince myself that it would be exactly the topic that would appear the next morning.
Then I would tell myself to stop thinking. STOP THINKING! I stressed.
But I would think about it again.
I looked at the time.
I closed my eyes.
I looked at the time again.
At some point, even the smallest sounds seemed louder. The room felt different at night. My heartbeat sounded louder. My stomach felt heavier. Every few minutes felt like an hour and every hour felt like another piece of sleep I was losing.
I knew myself. When I do not get enough sleep, I feel like my mind becomes slower, like there is a fog between me and the things I know. I had worried about this before. I had even planned to reset my sleeping schedule before the exam because I knew how important those hours of rest would be.
But I had not.
I had spent so many nights sleeping late, telling myself I would fix it later. And now, on the night when I needed sleep the most, I could not make it come.
The irony was almost painful.
I had spent months preparing for one morning and now I was lying awake, afraid that I had not prepared my body for it.
The hours passed. And slowly, I began to blame myself.
Not only for that night, but for all the things I knew I could have done differently.
The days I procrastinated.
The hours I could have used better.
The plans I made but did not always follow.
The bigger dreams I carried even when my actions sometimes felt smaller than them.
I wanted to do well.
More than anything, I wanted to know that I had given it everything I had. I imagined walking into that examination room prepared and certain that I had done my part.
But that night, I was far from that version of myself. I was tired, anxious, and questioning whether I had wanted something bigger than what I had been willing to work for.
That thought hurt…I knew I had tried, but I also knew I could have done more. I would never know exactly what difference that could have made.
The Morning I Had to Show Up Anyway
Eventually, the night became morning. I do not even know if I had really slept. I only knew that the night was over and September 20 had arrived.
For a few seconds after waking up, I stayed still. I wanted to believe that maybe I had gotten enough rest somehow, that maybe my body had recovered while I was not paying attention. But the tiredness was still there. My body felt heavy. I was not feeling like myself.
And there was no more time to negotiate with it.
The exam was that day.
I remember getting ready with a strange mixture of fear and acceptance. There was still a part of me thinking, What if my mind does not work today? What if I forget everything? What if all the things I studied disappear when I need them the most?
But another part of me was already tired of asking questions.
So I prepared. I ate what I could. I fixed my things. I checked what I needed to bring, probably more than once. We prayed, sincerely, me and my friends and companions.
And after, there was nothing left to do but go.
On the way to the examination venue, I tried not to think too much. But my mind kept going back to the night before. I also thought about everything that had brought me there.
The weeks of coaching. The reviewers. The notes.
The things I studied and the things I postponed.
The days I was disciplined and the days I was not.
The people I met. The money I had to think about. The exhaustion.
The prayers. The expectations.
And all the times I had asked myself whether I was really doing enough.
By the time I reached the venue, I realized that I was not walking into that examination room carrying only what I had learned from my books.
I was carrying the entire journey with me.
I was carrying the version of myself who dreamed of doing exceptionally well. The version who procrastinated. The version who tried again. The version who compared herself to others. The version who cared too much about what people might think. The version who sometimes did not care at all. The version who prayed when she felt she had no control. And the version who was standing there that morning, tired and afraid, but still showing up.
I was not my best that day.
I knew that. And for that morning, it was simply about giving what I still had.
But the Story Did Not Begin There
The strange thing about that morning was that it felt like an ending and a beginning at the same time.
The exam was finally there but the war inside me had started long before September 20.
There were months of preparation that no one could completely see.
There were days when I felt determined and days when I could barely make myself begin. There were people I met along the way who became part of the experience. There were conversations, unfamiliar faces, shared worries, small encouragements, and moments that reminded me that everyone was carrying something of their own.
There were also things that could not be solved by studying harder.
Money.
Time.
My health.
My sleeping habits.
My tendency to procrastinate.
The pressure I placed on myself.
And the quiet fear of what other people might think if I did not become the person they expected me to be.
The board exam was only one day.
But the story behind it was much longer than that.
The Dream I Carried
Long before the examination day, I had already imagined what it would feel like to finally make it.
At first, the dream was simple.
I wanted to pass.
But somewhere along the way, the dream became bigger.
I started thinking about what it would mean to do more than just pass. I wondered what it would feel like to see my name among those who performed exceptionally well. There were moments when I allowed myself to imagine something I was almost afraid to say out loud.
What if I could top?
It was a beautiful thought. And, in some ways, a frightening one. Because once you allow yourself to dream that big, you also become painfully aware of how much you think you should be doing to deserve it. I knew the kind of effort that dream seemed to require. And that was where the conflict began. There were days when I studied seriously, when I pushed myself, when I stayed focused even when I was tired. There were days when I felt proud of myself because I knew I was trying. But there were also days when I procrastinated.
Days when I knew I should be studying but chose to rest a little longer.
Days when I told myself I still had time.
Days when I made plans that sounded good in my head but were harder to follow in reality.
I would tell myself, I will start tomorrow.
And tomorrow would come.
Then I would say it again.
I knew I was capable of doing more.
That was what made it difficult.
If I truly believed I could not do it, maybe I would have had an easier time accepting things. But I knew there were moments when I could have pushed harder, reviewed longer, or been more disciplined with my time.
The hardest part was knowing that my dream and my habits were not always walking in the same direction.
I wanted a big result.
But sometimes, I was giving small effort.
And I hated admitting that.
And I think that is one of the most uncomfortable things I learned about myself during this journey.
Sometimes, we want to remember ourselves as people who gave their all because it sounds better. It is easier to say that we did everything we could.
But I do not want to lie to myself just to make the story easier. There were things I could have done better. There were choices I would make differently if I could go back. But I also learned that acknowledging those things does not mean I should hate the person who made them. I was learning, too. I was still becoming someone more disciplined, more responsible, and more honest with herself. Maybe the dream was never only about becoming a topnotcher. Maybe it was also about becoming the kind of person who could stand behind her own effort without having to make excuses for it.
The People I Met Along the Way
One thing I did not expect from this journey was how many people would become part of it.
Some were already familiar, while others were strangers at first. Through coaching, reviewing, shared meals, and conversations, some slowly became familiar. Being around others made the journey less lonely, but it also brought comparison. Someone seemed more prepared. Someone remembered things I had forgotten. Someone seemed more confident.
No one had to tell me I was behind. Sometimes, I simply felt it.
I also became conscious of what people might think of me, especially if I did not meet the expectations I had set for myself. There were times when I cared deeply, and times when I genuinely did not.
Eventually, I realized that I could only see a small part of everyone else’s journey. They had their own struggles, just as I had mine.
The Things That Cost More Than I Expected
There was also the part of this journey that was easier to overlook because it did not appear in reviewers or coaching sessions.
The cost.
Preparing for a board exam requires more than time and effort. There were coaching fees, transportation, food, and the small expenses that seemed insignificant on their own but slowly added up.
Every trip had a fare. Every day away from home meant something. Even the things that felt necessary had to be thought about. There were moments when I became conscious of how much was being spent just to be there, to attend, to prepare, to give myself a chance.
And sometimes, that awareness became another kind of pressure.
I knew that this was not only my dream.
There were people who supported me in ways I could see and in ways I probably did not fully notice at the time. There were sacrifices behind the money spent, the food prepared, the transportation, the encouragement, and the simple question of whether I had eaten or gotten home safely.
That made me want to do well even more.
But it also made failure feel heavier in my imagination.
I sometimes wondered, What if all of this leads to nothing?
What if the money spent does not become the result we hoped for?
What if the sacrifices do not immediately turn into something we can be proud of?
Those questions are difficult because money is never just money when you know where it came from.
It carries someone’s effort.
Someone’s time.
Someone’s trust.
Someone’s willingness to give even when they may have other things they could have used it for.
And I carried that awareness with me.
Still, I learned that gratitude and pressure can exist at the same time.
I could be grateful for the support I received and still feel afraid.
I could appreciate what was given to me and still worry that I was not doing enough with it.
I could understand the sacrifices behind this journey without knowing exactly how the story would end.
That uncertainty was difficult.
But it also reminded me that not everything valuable can be measured by the result alone. The things I received from other people were more than simple assistance. They were reminders that I was not carrying this dream completely alone. And maybe that is something I should remember regardless of the result.
I do not want to look back at this journey and see only the expenses, the worries, and the things I could not afford to ignore.
I want to remember the generosity behind them.
The privilege of having people and circumstances that allowed me to sit for that exam at all.
Because sometimes, when we are too focused on reaching the finish line, we forget to look at everything that carried us there.
My Body Was Also Keeping Score
For a long time, I thought preparation was mostly about the mind.
How much I could remember, how many pages I could finish, and how many hours I could study. But during the months of preparation, my body was also keeping score.
The long days.
The tiring trips.
The late nights.
The rushed meals. Unhealthy meals.
The exhaustion I kept telling myself I could deal with later.
I always thought I could rest after the next topic, the next coaching session, or the next reviewer. But eventually, I felt the cost of constantly putting rest aside.
My body became tired, and my mind followed.
Then came the night before the exam, when I needed sleep the most but could not get it. Lying there listening to my heartbeat, I realized that I had spent so much time asking whether I had studied enough that I had forgotten to ask whether I had taken care of myself.
I cannot keep treating rest as something I earn only after everything else is finished. There will always be another responsibility, another deadline, another reason to stay up a little longer.
I learned that discipline is not only about forcing myself to keep going. Sometimes, it means knowing when to stop and allowing myself to rest.
I wish I had understood that earlier.
There will be other dreams and other seasons that will demand my time. When they come, I hope I remember that I am part of the dream too, not just the person expected to achieve it.
The Crowd Inside My Head
Perhaps one of the hardest parts of this journey was realizing that much of the pressure did not come from other people.
Get honeymay’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
It came from me.
I carried a crowd inside my head.
What will they think if I do not pass?
What if I do not get the result I talked about?
What if I disappoint the people who believed in me?
And sometimes, the questions became more personal.
What if I was not as capable as I thought I was?
What if I wanted the dream more than I was willing to work for it?
What if I was the reason I did not become the person I wanted to be?
I wanted the result to prove that the studying, sacrifices, coaching, and difficult days had been worth it. But I realized how easily an examination could become more than an examination.
It could become a judgment of my intelligence, discipline, and worth.
I knew that was not fair. One examination could measure how I performed that day. It could not measure every late night, every lesson I taught, every time I started again, or every moment I doubted myself but continued.
Still, knowing that did not make the pressure disappear.
I cared about what people thought. I cared about the people who believed in me and those who supported me. I wanted to make them proud. But I was learning that their expectations could not become the measure of my life. What made it harder was how much harsher I was with myself.
I remembered every wasted hour.
Every plan I failed to follow.
Every moment I thought I should have done more.
I rarely gave myself the same understanding I would have given someone else. But still I was reminding myself that I can want more for myself without making myself feel less for not being perfect.
I still want to do well.
I still carry the bigger dream.
But I also want to reach the other side of this journey without losing myself along the way.
Faith When I Could Not Control the Outcome
Sometimes I knew exactly what I wanted to ask for. Other times, I simply needed to talk to God.
I prayed for strength, wisdom, peace, good health, and a smooth examination. On the night before the exam, I prayed especially hard because I knew I was not okay.
I asked God to let me sleep and calm my mind. But the night was still difficult.
Sleep would not come, my body felt uncomfortable, and my thoughts would not settle. I had prayed for a peaceful night, yet it was far from the one I had imagined.
For a moment, I wondered why.
I had prayed. I had prepared. I had tried.
And still, I could not control what would happen next.
Maybe that was the lesson I needed to learn.
Faith does not always mean that things will happen exactly as we ask. Sometimes, it means continuing even when they do not.
I could not guarantee that I would remember everything, that my mind would cooperate, or that the result would be what I hoped for.
But I could still pray.
I could still show up.
I could still do my part.
The rest had to be surrendered.
So I stopped asking God only for the outcome I wanted. I began asking for the strength to accept whatever came after I had done my part.
If the exam was difficult, I prayed for calm.
If I forgot something, I prayed that I would keep going.
And if the result was not what I hoped for, I prayed for the courage to continue.
That kind of prayer felt different.
It was less about control and more about surrender.
I still wanted to pass. I still carried bigger dreams. But I was beginning to understand that trusting God did not mean asking Him to write the ending I wanted.
Sometimes, it meant trusting Him enough to leave the ending unknown.
So I did what I could.
I studied. I prayed. And then, I let go.
I placed the outcome in God’s hands, not because I was no longer afraid, but because I knew it was no longer mine to control.
Did I Do Enough?
After everything, there was still one question I could not completely silence.
Did I do enough?
I asked myself that throughout the journey, especially on the days when I studied less than I planned, chose to rest, or looked at everything I still had to review. I wanted the answer to be yes. I wanted to look back and know that I had given everything. But if I am honest, I cannot say that with complete certainty. There were things I could have done better. I could have managed my time more carefully, been more consistent, fought procrastination earlier, and taken my sleep more seriously.
I know that.
But another truth matters too. I tried. I kept studying when I felt behind. I attended coaching. I reviewed what I could. I began again after falling behind. There were days when I was tired or uncertain, but I still continued. So maybe the answer is not simply yes or no. I could have done more, and I also did not give nothing.
Both can be true.
I can acknowledge my shortcomings without making everything I did meaningless. I can admit that I procrastinated without calling myself incapable of discipline. I can wish I had done more without being cruel to the person who was trying. There is no way to go back and see what would have happened if I had studied longer, slept earlier, or managed my time differently. I only have the version of the journey that actually happened.
And in that version, I did what I could with what I had.
Fastforward.
The Day I Finally Sat for the Exam
After months of preparing for it, I was finally inside the examination room.
The place I had imagined so many times was no longer somewhere in the future. It was happening.
When the examination started, I took a breath and began. One question at a time.
I fought through the sleeplessness from the night before. At first, I tried to stay focused, but as the hours passed, my mind began to feel heavier. There were moments when I had to read a question more than once, gather my thoughts, and remind myself to keep going. Some answers came easily. Others made me pause, think, and doubt myself.
But I kept answering.
I did not want the lack of sleep to become an excuse for not giving my all. So I stayed with each question, moved forward, and gave whatever focus I still had.
Then came the last examination for my major.
By then, my body was starting to feel worse. I had begun feeling feverish, and my nose was already running. I knew I was not feeling well, but I also knew I had one more examination to finish.
So I pushed through.
I was tired. I was not feeling well. My mind felt heavy.
But I tried my best to stay focused until the end.
For those hours, I stopped thinking about the result. I did not need to know if I would pass or whether I would reach the bigger dream I had carried.
I only needed to read, think, answer, and continue.
And I did.
When the examination finally ended, I felt relieved. There was nothing more I could change. The answers were already there.
For the first time in months, there was nothing left to review.
I could only walk away.
I did not know whether I had succeeded.
But I knew I had stayed until the end and given the examination everything I still had.
Whatever the Result Says
Now, there is nothing more I can add to the answer sheet.
The exam is over. The questions have been answered. The choices have been made. Whatever I could control that day has already been done.
And now comes the part I find more difficult than I expected.
Waiting.
There is something strange about waiting for a result that can carry so much meaning in your mind.
You start imagining possibilities. You replay questions. You remember the items you were unsure about.
You suddenly remember an answer you think you may have gotten wrong.
Then another memory comes.
Then another.
Sometimes you tell yourself to stop thinking about it. Then, five minutes later, you are thinking about it again. I know I cannot change anything anymore.
Still, a part of me wants to go back.
To the questions.
To the answers.
To the months before the exam.
To every decision I made.
As if thinking about it enough could somehow change the outcome.
It cannot.
So I am learning to sit with the uncertainty.
I do not know what the result will say.
I do not know if it will match the dream I carried.
I do not know if I will look at my name and feel the kind of happiness I imagined.
I do not know if I will have to take another path before reaching where I want to go.
And honestly, there are still moments when that uncertainty scares me.
But I am slowly understanding that the result will only tell me what happened in one examination.
It will not tell the whole story of who I am.
It will not contain the nights I spent trying to understand difficult topics.
It will not contain the prayers I whispered when I was afraid.
It will not contain the people who helped me.
It will not contain the money and sacrifices behind the journey.
It will not contain the days I wanted to give up but continued anyway.
It will not contain the lessons I learned about discipline, rest, comparison, faith, and myself.
And it certainly will not contain the entire person who walked into that examination room.
If the result is what I hope for, I will be grateful.
I will celebrate.
I will thank God.
I will thank the people who helped me reach that moment.
But if the result is different from what I prayed for, I hope I will remember everything I learned here too.
I hope I will not reduce myself to one result.
I hope I will have enough humility to learn from what happened and enough courage to continue.
Because I know now that dreams do not always unfold according to the timeline we create for them.
Sometimes the road takes longer.
Sometimes we have to begin again.
Sometimes we have to become a different version of ourselves before we are ready for what we have been asking for.
And maybe that is okay.
I started this journey wanting an answer.
Now, I am leaving it with more questions than I expected.
What kind of person do I want to become?
How do I want to work when no one is watching?
How do I take care of myself while still pursuing something difficult?
How do I dream big without allowing the dream to become a reason to be cruel to myself?
How do I keep my faith when the answer is not immediate?
I do not have all the answers yet.
But perhaps I am not supposed to.
Maybe this season was never only about getting a license.
Maybe it was also about meeting myself in a way I had never done before.
The ambitious version.
The procrastinating version.
The anxious version.
The tired version.
The hopeful version.
The faithful version.
The version that wanted to be exceptional.
And the version that simply wanted to make it through the day.
I met all of them.
And somehow, I am still here.
So whatever the result says, I want to remember this:
I was there.
I tried.
I prayed.
I struggled.
I doubted.
I continued.
And I learned.
That has to mean something too.
