A high school counselor once told me something that stayed in my head for years.
“School might not be for you.”
At the time, I didn’t question it.
I believed him.
And once you believe a label from someone you think has authority, it starts to become a superstition. Not a black cat. Not a broken mirror. A sentence.
A sentence that quietly rewrites how much effort you give.
When I was younger, I was told that phrase by a high school counselor who was supposed to help me transition into adult life. My behavior back then wasn’t exactly what anyone would call a model student.
Poor grades. No direction.
So the counselor looked at my record and said something simple:
“School might not be for you.”
That sentence changed my life.
I believed him.
From that moment on, whenever school got hard — in community college, in classes later — I would default back to that idea. My effort would slowly drop until the prophecy fulfilled itself.
I failed.
I accumulated seven F’s between two community colleges. I lost FAFSA support because of my grades.
And I told myself a story:
“I’m not academically smart.”
So I floated through life for years.
Family would ask what was wrong with me. I would get angry if they brought up school. I didn’t want to talk about it because thinking about the future felt like trying to lift a weight I knew I couldn’t carry.
Owning a home? Having a family? Becoming something?
It felt impossible.
So I distracted myself.
Movies. Work. Avoidance.
Whenever someone suggested I change my life, I would respond with the same shield:
“We’ll see what happens.”
I thought that was humility.
It was actually fear.
Looking back now, I realize something important.
That counselor didn’t sabotage me intentionally.
But ideas can make you — or break you.
If someone in authority labels you, and you accept it without testing it, the label becomes a superstition.
Like walking under a ladder.
Like breaking a mirror.
Except this superstition lives in your effort.
You start acting in ways that make the label true.
For me, it took years to realize I had never tested that idea.
I just believed it.
Eventually I went back to school later in life. Slowly. Awkwardly.
And something surprising happened.
I became an honor-roll student.
I graduated with a college degree.
Then I graduated from university with honors.
Not because I suddenly became smarter.
Because I stopped treating the label like fate.
That’s the danger of beliefs.
If you never test them, they become destiny.
But if you test them, they become experiments.
You might not become great.
But you give yourself the chance to become something.
And that’s the difference between superstition and growth.
Reader question:
Has anyone ever labeled you in a way that changed how you saw yourself?
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I post daily prompts, reflections, and Street Cinema every Saturday.
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