You can tell a lot about a society by how it reacts to a child who doesn’t do well in school.
And so, there’s a mental script most parents and their kids subsequently inherit: study hard, get good grades, go to university, get a “real” job, live a stable life. It’s the gold standard, the GPS we’re all expected to hand our children as they set off into the world. And like any well-meaning GPS, it doesn’t account for traffic, detours, or the fact that maybe your child isn’t headed to the same destination at all.
When the grades don’t come in, when a child says “I hate school” or zones out in class, or scrapes through year after year without ever quite “thriving,” the panic sets in. Parents start looking for tutors. They buy revision books. They micromanage homework. They push their kids a little harder. Because deep down, we’ve been taught to believe that academic failure is a moral failure… and possibly a parenting one.
We don’t always say it out loud, but the fear is real, rooted in the worry of: what if my child gets left behind? What if they don’t make it? What if I ruin their future because I didn’t push them hard enough?
But maybe we’re asking the wrong questions.
The reality is that many of the most interesting, creative, and successful people you know probably didn’t glide through school with flying colours.
In fact, they might’ve failed exams, dropped out, or spent most of their secondary years doing everything but paying attention in class. And not because they were lazy, but because the system wasn’t built for them.
We say this ad nauseam: school success, the kind we glorify with medals and certificates, is built around a very narrow definition of intelligence: can you sit still for long periods? Do you remember things exactly as they were told to you? Can you replicate this on a piece of paper, under pressure, and more importantly, without asking “why”?
If yes, congratulations — you’re “smart.”
We don’t consider the kids who think in systems. Who tinker, fidget, and ask annoying questions, who light up in music class but blank out during fractions, who struggle with spelling but build things with their hands. We label them “underperformers.” Or worse, “problems.”
We read an intriguing Straits Times article recently, which profiles Singaporeans who “failed” academically and then, rather inconveniently for the system, went on to succeed spectacularly. A producer and composer whose grades were dismal, but whose talent and drive were undeniable. A boy who took six years to get a diploma, and then went on to earn an MBA. A woman who failed in O-Levels, but now runs a boutique dressing ambassadors’ wives.
Are these outliers? Maybe. Or maybe they’re proof that school is just one of many roads to get somewhere meaningful. We tend to mistake early blooming for brilliance, and if you miss that window, you’re done.
Why do we panic when kids “fall behind?” Because we’ve been taught to believe that success is linear. You must achieve this by 12, by 16 you must know your life’s purpose, and by 18 you must have a folder of achievements thicker than your resume at 40.
It’s a mindset rooted in fear, not wisdom. Fear makes us grasp for metrics that look like certainty through test scores, rankings, and neat little charts. But development itself isn’t linear, either. It zigzags. It takes detours. It looks like looping back to find yourself again.
What we call “failure” in school often ends up being a pivot point — or the wake-up call. The moment where something deeper clicks: identity, curiosity, purpose. Ironically, the F in literature or the skipped class might just be the nudge that leads someone to find their own voice.
For some, school might be an efficient system, but for all, it’s not a forgiving one. It’s designed to produce compliant, predictable outputs. And that’s fine if you happen to fit the mould. But if you don’t — if your wiring is different, if your home life is complex, if your gifts take longer to show up — the system doesn’t pause to wait for you.
It just tells you you’re behind. Or worse, that you’re not enough.
The truth is that kids who “fail” academically aren’t failing at life. They’re failing at a game with rules that weren’t written for them.
Let’s address the fear in the room. Yes, the world is competitive. But it also needs people who think differently. Who break moulds. Who bring their unique lived experience, curiosity, and contradiction to the table. We need kids who are resilient, and who can adapt. Who’ve been allowed to fail and still believe in their own capabilities. That kind of grit isn’t built in a classroom. It’s built in spaces where people are allowed to explore, get lost, and come back stronger.
Let’s be clear: school can be a great fit for many. But for those it doesn’t serve, let’s stop pretending it’s the only path.
If a child thrives in homeschooling, unschooling, or self-directed learning, then great. If they need more time, more mentors, and less pressure, we need to stop thinking that makes them a liability. It means we’re actually paying attention to who they are, not just what the system expects.
Too often, though, we understand that parents feel they have no choice. Because “alternative” paths still come with stigma, red tape, and resistance. Because the myth of linear success is still loud and deeply ingrained.
But as the stories in this article show, there is no one way to bloom. And there’s certainly no expiry date on becoming extraordinary.
Getting there means that we need to retire the idea that failure is the opposite of success. Sometimes, it’s the beginning of it. Because what failure often brings (perspective, humility, stubbornness, insight) is exactly what you need to create something original.
The real danger isn’t in falling short on a test — or even multiple tests! It’s in shrinking yourself to fit into someone else’s idea of success. And when we pressure every child to perform in the same way, we teach them that what they have to offer isn’t worth paying attention to.
We’ve always believed in this: instead of fearing failure, we should fear conformity. We should fear systems that reward sameness and punish difference. We should fear telling a child they’re broken when really, they’re just brilliant in a language we haven’t tried to learn to speak.
Instead of forcing every child down the same narrow path, let’s start clearing new ones.
That means loosening the grip of standardised testing. Removing the red tape around homeschooling. Creating space for learning that’s hands-on, creative, and interest-led. Letting kids bloom at their own pace, and not at someone else’s.
It means trusting that your child isn’t just a set of grades. They’re a story unfolding. And great stories sometimes need plot twists.