As soon as I published and shared my latest blog post on Facebook, the very first thing on my feed was a friend’s message about the shooting at Brown University. I felt that instant drop in my chest with sadness, and heaviness. And this sense that my own post suddenly felt out of sync with the world, even though the timing wasn’t connected.
That feeling opened awareness, and anger.
A reminder of how I often feel an emotional weight from collective energies, especially when it involves young people and the systems they “have to” move through.
It also brought back a memory from 1999, after I graduated college, during one of the first major school shootings we may remember. I recall thinking, “I can understand how someone could get pushed to that edge.” The relentless pressure that builds when you’re still figuring out who you are, and the world keeps telling you to be something you’re not ready to be.
Because truthfully, our entire schooling system is a pressure cooker.
From the moment children start school in the U.S., they’re ranked, evaluated, and compared. They’re placed into categories before they even understand themselves. “Gifted.” “Behind.” “Advanced.” “Struggling.” These labels follow them for years, shaping how they see themselves long before they have a chance to learn who they really are.
Then comes the performance culture.
Grades. Tests. AP classes. The Honor Roll.
The message that your worth depends on your output.
Bullying and social hierarchy only add to it. Kids are still developing emotionally, yet they’re expected to navigate cruelty, exclusion, cultural differences, and identity struggles without any real tools. It’s hard enough being a child. It’s even harder being a child who is measured every single day.
And the pressure doesn’t stop at school. It shows up at home too. Parents expect or don’t expect their kids to get straight A’s, or compare them to siblings. It’s like growing up on a minefield. No matter where you step, you might be judged.
And then, the college pressure begins.
Extracurriculars become résumé fillers.
Volunteer work becomes a checkbox.
Passions become talking points for applications.
Students are taught to “stand out,” not to belong to themselves.
Even scholarships ask young people to prove their worthiness; to explain why they deserve help, why their story is inspirational enough, why they should be chosen over someone else. Athletes are groomed from a very young age. Many are valued for their size or strength rather than their minds, which adds a different layer of pressure, assumption, and exclusion.
Parents, often with the best intentions, add more pressure.
“My kid got into Harvard.”
“My kid got into Dartmouth.”
“My kid got into this or that program.”
It becomes a status symbol, something to announce.
But what happens to the kid who chooses community college?
The one who isn’t interested in prestige?
The one whose path doesn’t fit the mold?
The one who didn't get the grades or can't afford more?
The system makes them feel “less than” before they even begin.
And behind all of this is financial pressure. Some people carry student debt well after graduating. A four-year degree turns into a 40-year burden. And somehow, we’ve normalized that.
It’s a lot.
It’s too much.
We expect children, actual children, to carry adult-sized stress, perform at adult levels, and make life-shaping decisions before they even know what they want. And then we’re shocked when the cracks show. And worse, we were once those kids. Many of us spend adulthood healing from the trauma of it.
This isn’t about pointing fingers. It’s about recognizing what we’ve inherited so we can choose differently moving forward.
I don’t have the answers.
I just know the pressure we put on kids, teens, and young adults is far beyond what any developing nervous system was designed to handle. And moments like today remind me how important it is to question the systems we consider “normal.”
The real work is releasing the old traditional structures that have been in place for too long. People evolve, and so should the rules, expectations, and definitions of what is right and wrong.
For all who've died in school shootings, may their bodies and souls rest in love. And, may their deaths serve as examples of a system that needs to change.
