Student sample for assessment
Written by a Year 9 student in East Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.
I wanted to make the tennis team in Year 8. Not just play tennis—to make the competitive team, the one that played matches against other schools. My friends were on it, and I imagined myself at tournaments, in the uniform, belonging to something that felt serious and real. I practised constantly. Not obsessively at first, just regularly—twice a week, then three times. I was decent, not brilliant, but improving steadily. I liked the practice; I liked getting better at something. But underneath that, I wanted the certainty that the team would give me. I wanted to be someone who belonged. I made the team. I remember the email from the coach. I felt exactly what I'd imagined—for about three hours. Then something odd happened. The uniform arrived and it felt like a costume. The first match, I was nervous in a way I hadn't expected. Not nervous about playing badly; nervous about whether I'd made a mistake, whether I actually wanted to be here. The matches themselves were different from how I'd imagined them. I'd pictured myself playing well, winning, feeling confident. Instead I played adequately, sometimes nervously, sometimes well. What I hadn't imagined was the pressure—not the pressure of competition, but the pressure of confirming I belonged on the team. Every game felt like I was proving I deserved to be there. That exhausted me in a way practice never had. By the end of the season, I knew I didn't want to continue. Not because I failed or wasn't good enough—I was fine, middle of the team, solid player. I didn't continue because the thing I'd actually wanted—certainty about belonging—wasn't something a team could give me. Getting on the team didn't change anything about how I felt about myself. I just transferred my anxiety about belonging onto the tennis court. What I learned isn't a lesson, exactly. It's more like noticing something I hadn't seen before. I'd confused two different things: wanting to play tennis (which was genuine) and wanting proof that I belonged (which I was looking for in the wrong place). The wanting felt like it was about tennis, but it was really about something else. The team itself was fine. The problem was that I was looking for an answer to a question the team couldn't actually answer. Now when I want something, I try to notice: what am I actually wanting? Sometimes it's straightforward—I want that book, I want to be better at writing, I want to go to that place. But sometimes I notice I'm wanting something bigger—wanting to be the kind of person who does a certain thing, or wanting proof that I'm okay. When I notice that's happening, the wanting usually gets quieter. Not because I stop caring, but because I understand what it's actually about.