The “Gifted Kid” Problem

I pulled my blonde hair out of my mom’s lap, it was morning in California, and a smoggy fog danced with the motel’s asphalt. I could hardly contain my excitement, for I couldn’t wait to unravel my parent’s surprise. My overwhelmed identical-looking mom sensed my urgency, and promptly readied us for a surprise bus trip. Minutes later, I exited through the bright green door, with parents at tow, and a bus with blaring words parked right in front. “Mom,” I eagerly exclaimed, “We’re going to Disney!” My parents were utterly shocked, as they didn’t know that I could read. Needless to say, I was a spoiled three-year-old that day. From that point on, I would spend countless hours on our old fabric couch reading anything I could get my hands on – from chapter books to ingredient bottles. Pre-school passed by in a flash, and kindergarten bared its teeth with a nasty glint. I was always a rowdy child, thus I would spend most of this energy serving out whatever punishment my teachers would dole. But my kindergarten teacher noticed something, my ability to read. Me and another student were then sent to take a reading comprehension test, he got a 100%, I got a 95%. We were certifiably gifted. But Rohan and I were very different, I had serious behavioral issues; even biting a kid (whom I still keep in contact with to this day) because he wanted to get on the tire swing when there was only three people allowed at a time! (My mom still has the note from when I got recess detention for biting him). Rohan was always a smart kid, always able to do the counting exercises without throwing all of the plastic pieces around the room in some childish Hulk rampage. Because we were both “gifted,” we were given extra attention in the classroom, like extra reading and math exercises (the latter of which I despised). Rohan would sit there patiently whilst I became frustrated that I couldn’t do what I want – whether that be reading the library books I had stuffed in my tiny bag – or building a block tower then destroying it. As annoying as it was, I was dangerously proud of my “gifted kid,” label and I would do anything to keep it. 1st grade rolled around, and the cycle of being chastised for reading Harry Potter instead of the school assigned readings, and for constantly doodling on all my assignments, began. Though I was always yelled at for these habits, I excelled in my academics, with my only weak spot being handwriting. I’m still overcome with these habits today, though thankfully my behavioral problems have greatly dimmed. Up until middle school, I wore my “gifted” mark with hubris, always believing I was the smartest, most talented person in the room. But I didn’t truly believe that, covering up my inability to socialize and inner insecurities with a façade of bossy confidence. I honestly felt alienated from my peers due to this “gifted” label. But there was something more.

Looking back, I felt like being called a “gifted kid,” was just my school’s way of telling me that I should’ve at least seen my mental problems coming. Overall, I felt like I was put into a different category than my peers with this label. I was ostracized from the kindergarten playroom to work on academic activities with my teacher. At the time, I didn’t realize I was missing out on so much, nor did I realize how much my teacher was missing out on. As I’ve mentioned and likely demonstrated, I have some interesting behavioral tics, which were much worse as a child. I can’t sit still, I have the attention span of a fly, I get upset if I can’t do what I want to do, I cry at anything, and am easily frustrated. These were all up to 100% back in those days, and when I would lash out, my kindergarten and 1st grade teachers would just tell me to quiet down, that I was a disruption, and not “lady-like.” I was never sent to the school psychologist for any of these incidences or behaviors, as my “gifted” status and gender didn’t align with those who were sent away for similar behaviors. This label concealed true neurodevelopmental difficulties, as my constant reading was dismissed because I was just so much more “intelligent” than my peers. This habit was never recognized as a shield I used to avoid uncomfortable situations like interacting with peers and teachers.

Then comes the depression, also known as “Gifted Kid Burnout,” from long-term stress due to holding this treasured title. My behavioral traits also shined through when I experienced this fall in 6th grade. That’s when the bullying truly began. I was bullied most of my school days up until Junior year, from both students and teachers, but 6th grade was the worst. My new bullies would exploit my behavioral problems to get whatever attention they needed. After many incidents, I was mainly the one getting in trouble. The middle school administration was belittling, soaking up my large wounds with whisky and a Band-Aid. My grades were dropping, and only one teacher noticed. My soft-spoken middle-aged English teacher sent me to get evaluated at the psychologist’s office after I kept doodling on my failed vocabulary tests. Though I disliked her at the time, her initiative finally lead to finding out what the hell was wrong with me, and that was ADHD. At age 12, I was prescribed enough Focalin to make an elephant have a panic attack. I was still “gifted” though, but only in certain areas, like English, History, and Quiz Bowl. Those became the only classes I would try in, because I believed that I could only be talented in those certain areas. I never even touched math and science until my Sophomore year.

“Gifted Kid Syndrome” has affected me in many ways, I’ve had everything from sugar addictions, panic episodes, and eating disorders because of the clinically crushing depression of not being able to live up to those early childhood expectations. I still have a hubris from it, and I feel such crushing disappointment whenever I falter academically. As I’m writing this, I’ve been going through a seasonal depression episode, and have missed two classes today. The reason this piece is so long is because I’m procrastinating studying for my biology exam, so I can at least do something to better the stomach-full disappointment that’s seeping through my body.

The “Gifted Kid” category is why my mental difficulties went unnoticed and dangerously untreated, and my behaviors were brushed off. This stereotype is branded on many moderate-to-mildly neurodivergent kids as a way to not deal with their disabilities, especially if they’re girls. See, boys are allowed to horse around and get in trouble, and so are girls, but to a lesser degree. We’re supposed to be quiet sometimes (and I was too, either because I was reading or was too anxious to socialize), and my extreme focus to explosive energy switches were seen as meeting these “gifted” female expectations. I fed into these ideals, believing myself to be “normal” and “gifted,” until I was utterly crushed by my ADHD diagnosis. I felt like I had to succeed at all costs, and that I needed to fix this thing that was wrong with me. But I couldn’t get rid of it.

I’ve never truly been able to leave this “gifted” label behind, it continues to infect my worldview with this deadly adrenaline to succeed, only combatted by my indifference towards academics and seasonal depression. This wish to rid myself of my disabilities still overcomes me, and I only became aware of my Autistic traits this past year. I was too afraid to find out, but I guess some confidence took over me and allowed me to work up the courage to ask for help. I get my official Autism diagnosis in a little less than two weeks, and I know I’ll feel a deep, crushing shame when my disability’s printed in ink.

It’s been several years since I’ve seen Rohan, but since then, he’s gone onto win a top 10 spot at the National Geographic Bee, intern at prominent health and research companies, and attends MIT. Obviously he thrived under the “Gifted Kid” label, but this is all surface information. Of course, encouraging student success is necessary to help them reach their goals, but pushing a neurotypical idea of success and the ways to achieve it are incredibly damaging for neurodivergent kids, especially if their neurodivergency is unrecognized.

The only set solution for this “Gifted Kid” problem is to not rank children by pre-school intelligence, but still nurture them towards success. School systems should also introduce disability training, so teachers can recognize neurodvelopmental issues in young children from non-biased, science-based training. Having a disability is a constant struggle, but not knowing you have one is excruciating. I wish that I’d known I had Autism and ADHD from an early age, so I’d be better at combating the conditions of each, but there’s no second chances. By recognizing disability, students are better able to understand how to succeed in all aspects of the classroom via this insight into their own thinking and behaviors. School systems should also expand their psychology departments in order to provide education to teachers, parents, and students on how they can encourage and support the development of a neurodivergent student. Young kids shouldn’t be sectioned off by how well they can read, all children should be allowed to pursue advanced materials of their interests, and have access to teachers trained to accommodate their needs.

Source: https://www.davidsongifted.org/gifted-blog/burnout-in-gifted-children/