For most of high school, I felt like my emotions lived on a roller coaster built by other people. When my parents argued, my entire mood collapsed. When things were calm, I felt calm. When the tension rose again, so did my anxiety. I didn’t realize how much of myself I had handed over to circumstances outside my control.
Then, in the middle of Grade 11, I picked up Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. I didn’t expect much—just some “dusty old reflections” from a man who lived two thousand years ago. But what surprised me was how directly his thoughts spoke to mine. It was simple, almost embarrassingly logical: I couldn’t control my parents’ emotions, but I could control my response. I couldn’t prevent uncertainty, but I didn’t have to drown in it.
Philosophy didn’t fix my life all at once, but it changed my posture toward it. I stopped anchoring my well-being to things outside me. I stopped overthinking what people thought of me. I learned that setbacks weren’t personal attacks—they were teachers.
Looking back, philosophy didn’t just help me survive those years. It helped me grow from them. I’m proud that I chose to confront myself, to rethink my habits, and to build a mind that could stay steady even when the world wasn’t.