Why we won't stop talking about 'gifted kid burnout'
How a positive label turned into a negative one
Welcome to Gen Z Translator, where I break down trending topics on Fridays. If you’re new, you can subscribe here. Views are my own. Happy reading!
Before we begin, I wanted to say thank you to everyone reading this. I hit 300 subscribers this week!! It means so much to have your support <3
Back in 2017 or 2018, I published an editorial in my high school magazine titled “Gore, Glory and Giftedness.”
In it, I wrote, “Who is usually portrayed splayed in the trash can after a bit of roughing-up during cliche high school movies? The kid with glasses, the nerd who does everybody else’s homework.”
I wanted to address a hot topic – was separating intelligent children from the rest of their peers more harmful than beneficial? (My grammar has gotten better since, I promise).
“Being ‘a smart kid’ has gotten so convoluted and full of negative stereotypes…that society has failed to address the impact it’s having on these kids,” I wrote. “Acknowledging someone else’s success does’t make your accomplishments any [less]. You can succeed without tearing other people down. And the reality is unless you’re Albert Einstein or some child prodigy, you will always be smarter than someone and someone will always be smarter than you.”
Now, in 2025, we’re still talking about the ramifications of being labeled a “gifted kid” – or, not being labeled one.
I’ll confess, I was labeled a gifted kid in third grade. I remember, because I had to take the test multiple times. (Didn’t quite get there in the math section and that never changed). I felt so in over my head in that stuffy, scary testing room while I flipped through page after page of vague “Fill in the Pattern” questions.
I qualified and was pulled out for honors English, combined with another grade level for one class a day. My first memory in that class was a comfy couch and a coffee table full of well-loved books and logic puzzles, the 3D kind where you try to make squares or circles with the shapes in front of you. Stereotypical, really.
I fell in love with my first book there. “Artemis Fowl” by Eoin Colfer – a shiny, gold-covered book about a wealthy teenage prodigy who discovers a secret fairy world. It’s not hard to see why the topic was alluring to me. I’ve since sought out the first edition cover of this book, along with six others from the series so I can own books from my childhood that inspired me.
In honors English, we did book reports on works of our choice. I remember presenting on “Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking” by Malcolm Gladwell and “The Pillars of the Earth” by Kenn Follett. (I probably should not have been reading that in sixth grade).
I couldn’t tell you what else we did, only that I looked forward to that class, fell in love with reading, and felt empowered to be the best version of myself.
I was in a gifted digital learning program in middle school, block-based, so I was surrounded by the same cohort for three periods a day. Most of us dove head-first into our assignments, passionate about learning more than I would say the average 12-year-old is. A natural hierarchy formed of smart-to-less-smart. I remember rumors going around about who passed the gifted test by only one point or who had the highest score.
Flash forward a bit. For my public policy double major in college, I took a special topics class on education. More specifically, on educational equity. I know now that magnet programs like these can offer unfair advantages to children from higher socioeconomic backgrounds and encourage some demographics to succeed while discouraging others. It can be a status symbol. Gifted testing sometimes isn’t offered to children who would qualify if given the opportunity. There’s inherent privilege here.
I feel very grateful for my “gifted kid” experience overall. I was told I was smart and special. I could do anything I set my mind to. The biggest draw was that it made me feel weird and nerdy and low in the pecking order – I wasn’t one of the smartest kids, but I was overachieving enough that I stood out. If you read my high school editorial, you can sense this insecurity.
I still stand by the idea that hating on gifted kids sometimes comes with a bit of jealousy and judgement. Who are these kids who think differently than us? Who are these kids who are prioritized by educators? In groups, out groups. That whole deal.
Plus, yes, gifted kids can be seen as weird. Giftedness is highly associated with neurodivergence. Writers for Harvard Health Publishing explained the term as “often used in the context of autism spectrum disorder (ASD), as well as other neurological or developmental conditions such as ADHD or learning disabilities.”
Society has their own opinions on these labels.
When “gifted kids” get to college, the label doesn’t really matter anymore. They’re surrounded by intellectual peers, for the most part. They’re attending the same school, after all. But this shift can cause a bit of an identity crisis because who are they now that they’re not the best at something? Who are they now that they’re not being told they’re special or talented right away?
Some are just plain exhausted from how hard they’ve had to try. There are impossible standards they can’t reach, stretching from comparison among peers to valedictorian status to extracurricular involvement. The resentment builds.
And then the gifted kids get to the real world. In youth, their brains were wired toward all-encompassing academic validation. Their lens is black or white, good or bad. That can be a struggle when there aren’t grade point average standards or homework assignments anymore. There’s no structure. Life and mental health challenges can get in the way. Maybe this feeling of “peaking in high school” comes in.
They are – wait for it – burnt out.
I felt this more in high school. I had a permanent case of senioritis – a feeling that carried over into college. I love learning, but the stringent, this-or-that aspect got old. I’m not a good test-taker, and I can’t visualize information the same way some people can.
As former gifted students get older, giftedness is reflected on as unhealthy and unsustainable, setting students up for unrealistic expectations and unattainable standards in adult life. And that’s without factoring in the social pariah stigma they deal with as their brains are developing.
Gen Zers who grew up in this gifted/not gifted continuum have a bit more distance from their experience now, so they’re able to think about how it did or didn’t shape their childhood. As we get older, we’ll continue to make meaning out of it. Plus, it’s generally become a meme, something that’s easy to poke fun at from both sides of the equation.
Nowadays, I’m proud of my nerdiness. I love a little hyper-fixation, a little niche interest. I’m proud of my accomplishments, even though sometimes I feel undeserving of them or like I need to minimize them so as not to make other people uncomfortable. I have a really hard time taking a compliment, not wanting to seem braggy or self-absorbed. I also have a hard time promoting myself, remembering how I felt looked down upon for standing out.
But gifted classes are the reason I developed a love of reading, writing, and technology, which turned into a love of journalism, which turned into me having the confidence to write this newsletter right now. For that, I will be eternally grateful.
At the same time, I feel for people who weren’t labeled as gifted. I can see how that could hurt. I can see how never being encouraged to succeed in certain areas – or given the opportunity to – can turn into a sore spot as an adult. I can see how other kids boasting can be annoying. It’s also easy to see how others who experienced the label negatively can have a bitter taste in their mouth, feeling unequipped for a more holistic approach to achievement.
I think both those in support of the “gifted” label and those opposed have a chip on their shoulder. They don’t realize, though, that they have one, huge thing in common: A feeling of being othered – labeled into an inflexible category, unable to control the narrative.
Let’s be empathetic to that. Giftedness is a very nuanced conversation, and to explore one side isn’t to negate the other. Don’t worry, though. I don’t think this will be the last time we talk about it.
Read my last story: I reset my TikTok algorithm. Here's what happened
My weekly roundup:
🎶 What I’m Listening To: “Life of the Spider (Draft)” by Halsey
🎞️ What I’m Watching: Speaking of hyper-fixations, I’m on Arcane S1E6, and I definitely feel a fandom crush coming on
🔎 What I’m Reading: Bunny by Mona Awad
📱 What I’m Scrolling: The U.S. Postal Service made their own 2025 ins & outs
⚠️ What’s On My Radar: Follow me on my new(ish) Instagram account! I’ll be posting memes there. Thank you to
for this beautifully designed infographic!
Rachel, I am so glad you wrote this article; it’s very relatable for me. Last year I read a post by Anne Helen Petersen about detracking that made me rethink my entire perception of gifted programs: https://open.substack.com/pub/annehelen/p/the-case-for-detracking?r=18j62m&utm_medium=ios