Stories
When there are new challenges to rise up to, KAIST CAF will be at the very forefront.
Stories
KAISTian Stories
The First Person to Tell Me I’m Amazing Just the Way I Am
Author
Lee Donyoung (KAIST CbE)
발행일
2026-05-21 14:14:41
“You always do your best in whatever you do.”
To me, that sentence always felt like both a compliment and a responsibility.
I like to think that I was one of the hardest working students at KAIST. Classes, research, extracurricular activities, department student representative, President of the Student Association, overseas volunteering, competitions—you name it. I always felt reassured whenever I was accomplishing something. My daily schedule was always packed, and I felt anxious if I stopped even for a moment.
Naturally, the achievements piled up. I believed that my achievements allowed me to prove myself to the world. On the outside, everything looked perfect—I even thought so myself. I liked being busy. Every time someone told me, “You’re really something else,” it motivated me to keep on pushing.
But at some point, things started to go awry. I became impatient and touchy over the smallest things. I didn’t feel refreshed after waking up from bed, and I no longer found myself playing the piano I once loved. My inbox began overflowing with unanswered emails, and my to-do list grew longer by the day. Yet strangely, I couldn’t bring myself to start any of it.
I had become the kind of person who constantly calculated their future—not just tomorrow, but months and years ahead. That was who I had become. Still, I thought things were fine.
“Everyone goes through a phase.” “This is an important moment in my life.”
I tried to reassure myself with those thoughts, and I sometimes even scolded myself.
Looking back, I was only fooling myself, and that was the most dangerous problem.
My winter internship in Seoul was the final warning. Every morning, I got on the subway before sunrise, and I spent the day experimenting and reading papers. By the time I left work, my mind and body felt hollow. When I came home late at night, my mind was filled with all the mistakes I made that day, and the thought of tomorrow made me deeply anxious.
And yet, I still believed I was fine. This was all part of the growing process, an investment for the future—or so I kept telling myself.
Then one day, I came home for a short holiday.
My parents welcomed me warmly since they hadn’t seen me in a while. Strangely, their warm expressions made me feel uncomfortable inside. The moment I saw their faces, which should have felt familiar and comforting, everything came crashing down. We were chatting at the dinner table, and the topic shifted to my plans for the following semester. Suddenly, I felt something surging up inside my throat, like I was about to erupt like a volcano. I tried my best to push it down, but there was no way to stop myself from bursting. I burst into tears and cried uncontrollably. I was completely bawling my eyes out. It would be an understatement to say that my parents were shocked to see me, their bright and confident daughter, fall to pieces. I will never forget the look on their faces that day. I can still vividly picture the shock and sadness in my mother’s eyes.
Only then did I realize the truth that I had ignored for so long.
“I failed after all.”
This was not a failure in academics or research.
“I had completely failed to take care of myself.”
Looking back, that failure didn’t happen overnight. I always wanted to do well. No—I believed I had to do well to be a worthy person. I thought that was the only way to earn respect from others. I had convinced myself that without achievements, I was worthless. Because of this, I had shunned my emotions aside. Even when I was anxious, scared, and exhausted, I pretended I was fine.
“Everyone else is enduring. It’s not like I’m the only one struggling.” That was how I kept forcing myself to push forward. Somewhere along the way, I became disconnected even from myself.
I remember how my heart would race for no reason, and how I couldn’t breathe properly in the subway. At night, I couldn’t sleep and instead cried, though I didn’t know why. Still, I never thought of taking a moment to catch my breath. To me, stopping felt like losing. I was being so cruel to myself.
That night, I cried myself to sleep. The next morning, I saw a KakaoTalk message my mom had sent in the middle of the night.
Above the message, it said: “Wednesday, February 12, 2025, 1:34 AM.”
My mom, who always went to bed by 11 pm, had stayed awake until 1:30 in the morning. She must have written, erased, and rewritten that message countless times, thinking deeply about what she could possibly say to make her daughter hurt a little less. I started to cry again the moment I saw her text.
Written in that message was something I had never heard in my entire life.
“Donyoung , it’s okay to rest.”
“What you achieve and how fast you achieve them isn’t important. What matters more is whether you can smile and feel happy.”
Never before had anyone told me that it was okay to rest. Not my friends, not my teachers, and not even myself. That was a luxury I had never once granted myself.
“I’ve never stopped, have I? Not even once.”“I’ve never actually thought about taking care of myself.”
My mom also wrote this in her text:
“As long as you stay true to yourself and take things slowly, you’ll eventually see a faint light ahead. If the light is taking its time, then just sit down and rest for a while.”
The moment I read those words, it felt like something finally clicked in my mind.
On the following day, my mom launched a “Heal My Daughter Project.” She took me to her favorite restaurant and ordered all the dishes she loved. For the next few days, I did nothing at all and chatted with my sister after she came home from work. During the evenings, I sat at the table with my family, enjoying delicious fruit together. There was nothing special about those couple of days, but that was the first time I truly understood how comforting and precious simple, everyday moments could be.
At first, I was still anxious. “Is it okay to let days go by like this?” “Everyone else is probably still pressing on—am I falling behind?”
But strangely, as time passed, I gradually began to loosen up.
Every day, my mom told me:
“It’s okay even if you achieve nothing. It’s okay to be a bit slower than everyone else. I’m always on your side.”
Those weren’t just words of comfort. They were the reason I finally began to understand myself.
In those few days, I had undergone a transformation. I no longer felt like I was suffocating. My heart didn’t pound as violently in the mornings.
And for the first time, I began saying things like:
“It’s okay to do just a little today.”
“Resting is also something that I need to do.”
Now I understand. I just need to be myself. My achievements don’t prove who I am, they’re just one part of my life. More than anything else, my failure taught me a valuable lesson: My relationships are what give me strength. I learned how to take care of myself for the first time, and I did so thanks to the safest, most solid relationship I had—my family. After spending so long believing I had to be perfect and strong, what lifted me back up in the end wasn’t an accomplishment, nor was it effort. It wasmy familywho loved me unconditionally, without expectation.
Now I know this important fact. It is okay to struggle. It is okay to stop. I am just as good and worthy even when I am doing nothing.
The truth is, I still waver sometimes even now. Whenever I do, I open my phone and reread that text my mom sent me at 1:34 a.m. I want to close my essay by sharing that message with everyone.
In case you, the one reading this essay now, need the reminder too: You are already precious, just as you are.
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