My Feedback Does not Define Me by Kamryn

My Feedback Does not Define Me by Kamryn - August 2026 Scholarship Essay

“I actually just have a note that says: ‘Everyone be more like Kami.’”
Cheeks flaming, I sit among a sea of talented high school actors. Many of whom are better actors than me, and almost all of whom are better singers. Yet, as my directors offered notes on our community theatre play’s rehearsal, multiple times they led back to me, hailing my energy and passion.

The year was 2023.

The show was Beauty and the Beast Jr.

The role I played was Silly girl #2.

A role so minuscule in my mind I actually cried when I found out. Rather dramatic, I admit, but I poured myself into my audition and was left with a role that was barely a step up from the dreaded ensemble.

But that feedback made it worth it.
I felt like I made it.

And then, I got comfortable.
I grew dependent on it.

Every time I performed, I’d always run up to a director or staff seeking validation, as if it were a safety net and the only thing that stood between me and a drastic plummet into the depths of insecurity.

I warned you I was dramatic.

But now the year is 2024.

The play is A Wrinkle in Time.

The role is Red-Eyed Man.

A part bigger than I had ever gotten. I was confused when they read my name and the assigned role. The villain? Surely that couldn’t be me. So, just like with my old theatre group, I scoured that room for my safety net of validation. After several encouraging conversations with staff, I thought I had found it, and I settled in for what I thought would be another comfortable, validating week.

Wrong. I was very wrong.

There I was, performing my lines as the director slowly inches towards me, leaning in with her brows knit together.

“I love what you’re doing,” she says, speaking with her hands in true director fashion. “But I can’t hear you.” I faltered.

Then, in a projection workshop, one of the teens in the camp said, “I think we’re all pretty good at projection. Well,” they look towards me, “except for the red-eyed man.” I plummeted.

There was no safety net anymore, nothing between me and the thoughts that ate at me the moment my head hit the pillow at night.

I rested my identity in a skill I hadn’t mastered. I laid a safety net fashioned of opinions I couldn’t control. And all it took was one comment to shake me off my balance.
But I wasn’t going to end the week like this.

Their feedback lit a fire under me. I studied those lines till I could say them backwards. I mastered the blocking till I could visualize it in my sleep. This newfound motivation strengthened me and grew me.

But it wasn’t until the end of the week that I realized I was still chasing the wrong thing.
The play ends. I gave a performance I’m proud of. My family congratulates me and encourages me, and before I’m satisfied, I make a beeline to the director to thank her. But honestly, I just wanted to give her the chance to tell me I did a good job.

And she did.
She gave me one of the greatest compliments I had ever received.
And it rang hollow.

I was left to wonder: was I ever really chasing mastery?
Was I only ever really after the validation that came with it?

I had grown a lot in that week in my skills. But I knew that fire and desire for validation would never truly sustain me.

If I wanted to really learn and grow from feedback, and use it to become a better person, I had to stop tying myself and my identity to the skill that was being critiqued.

I had to learn to put my identity in something unshakable, and not rest in the fickle opinions of others. I’m still trying to find that unshakable rock to rest on, but knowing it’s not my skills or my achievements helps me to look at feedback objectively and see it as an opportunity to grow and not a personal attack.

So now, the year is 2026.

The feedback I receive still feels daunting sometimes.

But I know it doesn’t define me.

And if I work hard to apply it, it’ll only make me stronger.