I still remember the moment I walked out of the physics exam hall.
Everyone else was talking.
Some were comparing answers.
Some were laughing, already relieved it was over.
I stayed quiet.
Because deep down, I was almost certain of one thing:
I had failed physics.
Not the dramatic kind of “maybe I didn’t do well.”
But the heavy, sinking feeling where you already know —
you didn’t understand enough, and it showed.
When Hard Work Still Isn’t Enough
The frustrating part was this:
I did study.
I memorised formulas.
I practised questions.
I stayed up late the night before.
Yet during the exam, my mind went blank.
Not because I didn’t revise —
but because I didn’t understand.
The symbols looked familiar.
The equations were ones I’d seen before.
But the questions felt… different.
They weren’t asking what formula to use.
They were asking why.
And I had no answer.
“Maybe I’m Just Not a Physics Person”
That thought crept in quietly, then grew louder.
“Some people are good at physics.
Some people aren’t.
Maybe I’m just not one of them.”
I hated that idea — but it felt convincing.
Physics had a way of making me feel small.
Every mistake felt like proof that I didn’t belong in science.
And when the exam results came out, the number confirmed it.
It wasn’t a complete failure.
But it was bad enough to hurt.
Bad enough to make me question myself.
The Lowest Point Isn’t the Result — It’s the Meaning You Give It
The real failure wasn’t the score.
It was what I told myself because of it.
I told myself:
- I wasn’t smart enough
- I was wasting my time
- I should just “get through” physics and forget about it
For a while, I stopped trying to truly learn.
I did the bare minimum.
I copied solutions without thinking.
Ironically, that made things even worse.
The Turning Point Came From One Simple Question
The turning point didn’t come from a tutor, a top student, or a motivational speech.
It came from one question I asked myself while staring at a practice problem:
“What is actually happening here?”
Not:
- What formula do I use?
- What steps do I follow?
But:
- What is moving?
- What is changing?
- What is causing what?
For the first time, I stopped treating physics like math with extra letters.
I started imagining the situation.
The object.
The force.
The direction.
The interaction.
And something strange happened.
The formula didn’t feel like something to memorise anymore.
It felt like a description of reality.
Physics Isn’t About Remembering — It’s About Seeing
Once I saw that, everything changed — slowly, imperfectly, but for real.
I began asking better questions:
- Why does this value increase?
- What happens if this force disappears?
- What would this look like in real life?
I still made mistakes.
I still got questions wrong.
But now, I knew why I was wrong.
And that made all the difference.
The Exam I Was Afraid Of Became My Proof
The next physics exam came.
I was still nervous.
Still unsure.
But this time, I didn’t panic when I saw unfamiliar questions.
I broke them down.
I visualised the situation.
I reasoned my way through.
When the results came back, I checked twice.
Because the number didn’t match the story I used to tell myself.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was strong.
More importantly —
it was earned through understanding, not luck.
What Physics Taught Me About Failure
Physics didn’t just teach me about forces and motion.
It taught me this:
- Failure doesn’t mean you’re incapable
- Struggle often means your approach is wrong, not you
- Understanding beats memorisation — every time
I didn’t “suddenly become good” at physics.
I learned how to think differently.
And that skill stayed with me far beyond the classroom.
If You’re Struggling With Physics Right Now
If you’re reading this and feeling stuck —
feeling like physics just isn’t for you —
I want you to know something:
You’re probably not failing because you’re bad at physics.
You’re failing because no one taught you how to see it yet.
And once you do,
the formulas stop being enemies —
they become explanations.