“Your word is, doña.”
“Doña?” My hands shook. My heart raced. In that moment, I knew I was about to fail. This entire spelling bee season, I was barely doing enough to get by, just cramming last-minute instead of learning the languages and roots I needed to succeed.
My hands trembled, a feverish chill ran through me, and my heart pounded as the weight of failure settled in my gut. It was clear that my elimination was near. I stood on the stage, fidgeting with the microphone, frozen in shock, trying to summon the confidence that just wasn’t there. I could already imagine the groans from the audience, the bell ringing in my ears, and the disappointed looks on my parents’ faces.
The bell rang. The audience groaned. The judge gave me a farewell as the crowd clapped, and I stepped back from the microphone, my chest tightening then relaxing all at once. As I walked off the stage, I felt both relieved and terrified; my legs felt light yet shaky, like I was both floating and sinking at the same time. I avoided eye contact with the crowd, clutching my placard and trying to steady my breath, though my heart still hadn’t caught up. The silence from the audience hurt more than the mistake itself. I didn’t need to turn around to know that my dad had his head in his hands.
As I walked back to my parents, my brain still spinning, I thought, What will they think of my performance? All season long, I had only dedicated time to preparing myself enough to go to the next level. I wasn’t prepared to handle the pressure and nerves that came with the stage.
My parents should’ve asked, “Why did you spell the way you did?” But deep down, we all knew the answer. At that very moment, stress, anxiety, and nervousness got the best of me.
Because I didn’t prepare, I was, in effect, preparing to fail.
I know that it wasn’t just me who experienced this feeling. Every kid who has ever stepped onto a stage, filled out a test, auditioned for a part, or taken a shot at something big knows what it feels like: the twisting knot in your stomach, the desperate wish for one more chance, the fear that one mistake defines who you are.
After I came back from Washington, D.C., I made a decision. Next year, I would give it everything I had.
I was done with listlessly memorizing words that didn’t get stuck in my head. I was tired of half-heartedly staying up late studying for a competition that was 363 days away. I needed to make a decision on whether to continue next year or quit entirely.
I had been studying for spelling bees ever since I was eight. In second grade, I joined my first local spelling bee. I only competed in it because my friends were competing that week, and I didn’t want to be left out. So, I registered. I barely studied, and within 2 days of signing up and with little to no preparation, I ended up in 2nd place and a ticket to finals, which were held in Massachusetts that year. I wasn’t excited about attending the next stage either; I just wanted to speak in front of a fancy microphone! Ever since then, I have been studying words, and I even got to the district level through the official Scripps National Spelling Bee next year. But that was 2020, and everything changed. Because of COVID-19, the bee was first delayed, then canceled. I found myself at a crossroads, wondering whether to keep spelling or move on to something new.
For a while, I tried to move on. My parents enrolled me in online classes, but the days felt empty without spelling. Eventually, out of pure boredom, I started joining online bees. Slowly, I improved. In 2022, I finally qualified for Scripps. Seeing people in person after meeting them only through a screen was strange. I made it until the quarterfinals that year and got out in the first round. I didn’t care about getting out then, and I didn’t feel bad at all. I told myself I was prepared, although I wasn’t. I was at the Scripps National Spelling Bee, and I was there to have fun. However, next year, in 2023, is when I got out on the word doña.
After I got off stage and went back to my hotel room, I was reminded of the days in 2020, when I felt this strong sense of languor. I felt as if I was back to square one. But then it hit me: Why should I quit for a goal I was working towards all this time? Although I lost in the quarterfinals twice, I still had two solid years to compete again. And the result wasn’t going to come so easily. I memorized words for hours each day, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t real effort. That’s when I realized memorizing was not enough. I needed to truly understand the words, their roots, their stories, and what they meant. That’s when the purpose started to feel real. I was wasting the chance to reach my full potential.
The next year, in 2024, I returned to the Scripps stage, but this time, with passion, and I came back with a reason to succeed. And the whole time, that was what I was missing; it was that reason, that fire to prepare for spelling every day, that led me to compete again. Of course, it wasn’t easy. I did my homework at the beginning of the homeroom each day so I could practice at night. I couldn’t commit to plans often because I had to practice at home. I studied through burnout and stress. I didn’t do it because I had to. I did it for the version of me from 2020 and 2023, the girl who thought she would never compete again, and once believed she wasn’t good enough. I did it to show her she was always capable. I did it to give her the grit and determination I carry with me today, and because she was my reason.
For that reason, I felt I had nothing to lose. I tried my absolute hardest, and once I got to the finals, the sky was the limit. I scored 3rd place that night, and I came out of the competition proud. I competed again to prove that fire was still in me even after 2023, and I proved myself right.
Because when your reason comes from something deeper than just wanting to win, when it’s about showing yourself that you have the strength to keep going, there is no limit to how far you can go.
Author’s Note:
This piece is inspired by my journey in spelling bees, which began when I was eight years old. After hitting a low point in my spelling career, I used that experience to learn and grow. Today, I coach and inspire other students to follow a similar path, giving back to the spelling community. I wrote this to share my story of recovery and determination.
Ananya Prassanna | 14 | Apex, NC | @ur.fellow.capsicl on TikTok
