The Weight of Waiting

I’ve been anxiously waiting for the results of my comprehensive exam. It’s been almost a month since they were supposedly released, and the wait has been exhausting. To cope, I found myself downloading hundreds of books—knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to read them all—just to distract my mind. I made self-care a routine every Saturday, went out more than usual, and tried everything I could to ease the overwhelming uncertainty.

When I took my board exam, I only had to wait three days, but even then, the stress gave me a fever. This, though—this wait for the comprehensive exam results—has drained me in a different way. I couldn't sleep. I didn’t even admit to myself how badly I wanted to know the results. It wasn’t just about proving my capability—I wanted clarity about what to do next. What if I failed? How do I start again?

I’ve faced many failures in life—so many that I thought I’d grown used to them. But this one felt different. This one felt like a personal validation that despite the setbacks and delays, I was still pushing forward. Maybe, just maybe, it would prove to me that I’m still capable of something great. That even if I’ve stumbled many times, I’m still someone who can achieve something meaningful.

I hate that I feel like I always need to prove something—to stand out, to do what others can't. Maybe it’s because of the high standards my mother set for me. So high that I’ve broken down more than once trying to reach them. I don’t even know what I’m trying to prove anymore. Or to whom.

My anxiety got worse every day. I was checking our school’s Facebook page every five minutes. And then, ironically, on a busy afternoon when I wasn’t checking, I saw a “Congratulations” message in one of my group chats. I didn’t process it at first until a friend called and said, “Congratulations, Larrahbells!” I was stunned. I had been so consumed with worry that I forgot this moment could actually be good news.

When I finally checked, I found out that only four of us out of twelve had passed. I was one of them. And deep down, I knew—God made it happen. I wouldn’t have survived that waiting period without my constant prayers for mental strength.

This has been a journey I’ll always look back on. The stops and starts, the mental health battles, the unresolved heartbreak, and my ongoing health struggles—all of it. These were the reasons I kept restarting. It was never easy, but I truly gave it my best. And now, I’m on to the next chapter: writing.

I’m both excited and scared. Can I really do this alone now, without my friends around? Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m holding on to one dream—that one day, I’ll be walking across that stage wearing my doctoral gown.