A few weeks ago on junior retreat, I sat with classmates, none of them my closest friends, talking. With an honesty and openness that I welcomed but hadn’t prepared for, we shared our struggles, fears and vulnerabilities. We listened to one another — really listened. 

It was transformative. Though our stories differed, it turns out we all find high school hard sometimes, we all experience insecurities and self-doubt, we all worry about our loved ones and friends. It was as if I was listening to my classmates for the first time.

Why was this moment of empathy and connection surprising? Because it was a school event. 

U-High is high-pressure, giving students few opportunities to relieve that pressure. The retreat was one such opportunity. Lab could provide more. By creating spaces for students to engage in vulnerable dialogue in a supportive environment, the school would foster increased community and understanding. 

In high school, the importance of demonstrating academic rigor and cultivating interests serves as a backdrop to pressure that asks us to lead, be team players, be funny, be adaptable, be ambitious, win favor with teachers, keep perspective, be calm under pressure. Like ducks, we look like we are gliding, but beneath the surface we’re paddling furiously. This became clear on retreat, where we could finally let our guards down.

For the past year, I’ve been the Midway’s opinion editor. We’ve published powerful pieces by students who were brave enough to share their voices. But there are a lot of other important voices and less public moments of sharing. Some of my most meaningful moments at Lab have been when people have spoken with me in an unguarded, unedited and raw way.

The most genuine, rather than performative, acts of kindness often happen quietly at Lab. When I returned from a journalism conference, having missed multiple school days, the rest of my science lab group covered for me, assuring, “We’ve got you.” My final grade was a result, in large part, of their help. Or the numerous occasions where I’ve witnessed classmates making their own minds up about people, choosing to ignore rumors and gossip. And I’ll never forget as a ninth grader when my friend knew I was going through a hard time. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said. “I want to listen, I want to understand.”

Our school is a special place. Life-changing conversations are waiting to happen, and they’re the moments we’ll remember most. Being vulnerable isn’t easy, but it’s on all of us — teachers, administrators, students and families — to work together to make the school a more honest and authentic place. That will not detract from academics, it will enhance them.