Embrace Being Bad: Deliberately Choosing The Difficult Path

By Ella Prieto

In middle school, I almost failed French.  

My teacher was this peculiar lady who taught yoga in her free time, spoke seven languages, and always enjoyed pulling me to the front of the class to call me an idiot. She would prowl into the auditorium where we waited before school to force us (her worst students) into extra grammar practice. She often called my mother to tell her what an awful student I was, without any sort of solutions nor empathy. Tears never moved her; hours of homework delighted her. I once watched her smile as she wrote a “57” on my conjugations quiz. She was a horrible woman, and she still smiles in my nightmares.  

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In high school, I learned that I have an auditory processing disorder, which means that the signals that bring sound from my ears into my brain don’t work normally. In normal life, my brain has to use context to put together fragments of sound in order to understand what’s being said. In language classes, where context is impossible, I was left without any sort of foothold. This means that learning new, spoken languages is literally (clinically) impossible. This diagnosis was an immense relief, as my failure in language wasn’t because I was stupid—it was a medical disorder. So, I vowed to never take another language class again, happily exempt for all four years of my high school experience.  

Then I decided to take classical Hebrew. 

My parents thought I was absolutely insane. My mother especially—speaking French herself, she couldn’t understand why her personal tutoring never helped me. She’d say a word and I just couldn’t repeat it back to her, the frustration of it almost bringing both of us to tears. But I explained that I had to take Hebrew in university—as a divinity student, a biblical language is essential for a career specializing in biblical studies. Plus, my professors assured me that I would never have to speak Hebrew out loud for a grade. It’s all written, and the grade rests on translation.  

It has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  

The other students all seem to catch on, prattling out Hebrew paradigms like they’re the ABCs, translating sentences with ease—all the while I’m sitting in the front row, sweating, frantically scribbling down the consonant rules and Dagesh Forte signals and Direct Object markers. Truthfully, a lot of them have studied Hebrew in the past, which was both shocking and relieving to learn halfway through this semester. Still, I can’t help but sometimes feel like I’m back in my blistering French classroom, shaking under the glare of Ms. Barchinska.  

Except this time, taking a language class was my choice. I made the decision myself to sign up for a class I knew I’d struggle in, all for the sake of being able to do something incredible—translating an ancient text. Without Hebrew, I can’t do the intertextuality work that I wish to do—and it does help that my teacher couldn’t be more different than my old French teacher. 

Additionally, I want to be challenged. In my other classes, I knew that, if I did the essays and kept up with the readings, I would be fine. In Hebrew, I have to put hours in every week or else I will fail. I have found this challenge oddly invigorating. Translating a full sentence for the first time when weeks before the letters were incomprehensible was one of the most amazing feelings I’ve ever felt. And even though I’m far from the best in the class, I’m incredibly glad that I chose stretch past what I thought I couldn’t do (even if I often walk out of St Mary’s muttering incoherently in absolute befuddlement, utterly convinced I’m going to fail.)  

To be clear, I am not telling you to learn classical Hebrew. God knows we’re a select few (14, in fact). Instead, I’m telling you that you need to do something hard. Something you are a bit afraid of. Something that you know that you will not be the best in. Sticking to what you know you’ll be good at will never make you a better, smarter, more competent person—and limiting yourself by saying “I am not the type of person who can…whatever” will set a precedent to your entire life.  

So, if you ask me, take that terrifying class. Run at 7 AM in the freezing cold of January). Travel alone in a country you can’t speak the language of. But whatever you choose to do, make it hard. That’s how we’ll truly get something out of our university experience. Don’t say you can’t do it. Because I promise, you can.