Redbull and regret. That’s how most of my academic storms begin. It’s always the same: a blinking cursor at midnight, an energy drink sweating on my desk, and that tight, anxious feeling in my chest that whispers, “You should’ve started this sooner.” It’s not the healthiest combo, but it’s familiar—like a chaotic ritual I repeat every finals week. This time, it wasn’t a paper I was rushing to finish, but a dive into something deeper: my Adversity Quotient (AQ). I wasn’t expecting answers. I was expecting another assignment to survive. But what I found was a mirror. One that showed me how I crash, how I cope, and how I crawl back up from the wreckage every single time.

I'll be real with you. when I took my first Adversity Quotient (AQ) assessment, I wasn’t exactly confident I got the right one. My results came back with a Sensation Seeking score of 70. While the result itself was interesting. It told me I thrive on adrenaline, love challenges, and enjoy a good thrill. However, upon further research, the AQ assessment is all about how we respond to adversity. Those tough situations that life loves to throw at us. The core idea is about measuring resilience, not just the ability to handle excitement, but how well we cope with setbacks and challenges.

Adversity Quotient (AQ) measures resilience through four key dimensions called CORE. CORE stands for Control, Ownership, Reach, and Endurance. First, Control assesses whether we feel empowered to manage a situation or overwhelmed by its unpredictability. Ownership examines if we take responsibility for the obstacles we face or tend to blame others. Reach, looks at whether setbacks in one area of life affect our performance and outlook in other areas, or if we’re able to compartmentalize. Finally, Endurance evaluates our perspective on adversity: do we view it as a temporary struggle, or do we expect it to last indefinitely? Each of these dimensions offers insight into how we cope with difficulties and, ultimately, how we can build greater resilience in the face of life’s inevitable challenges.

Before diving into my AQ results and the breakdown of my CORE score, I think it’s only fair to talk about the first result I got. It’s still from an AQ assessment, after all, and it would be a waste not to reflect on it after spending the time to take it.

The result I got on my first AQ assessment is Sensation Seeking, with a score of 70. Honestly? Fair enough. The description couldn’t be far from me. It said, “You enjoy a good adrenaline rush. Adventures that get your heart racing, your eyes bulging, and your brow sweating every so often are perfect for you.” And I’m not going to lie. I couldn’t agree more. I love challenges that get the blood pumping and the stakes high. Whether it’s a spontaneous decision, a last-minute deadline, or a problem that requires a burst of creative energy, I thrive in situations that get my heart racing. But hey, balance is key, right? While I definitely crave the rush, there’s also a part of me that knows I need to switch gears and cool down every so often. Still, my sensation-seeking side? It’ll always come back for more because life’s just more exciting when there’s a little thrill involved.

Now the real thing. My AQ assessment result with a breakdown of my CORE. I scored 162, which is higher than the average of 147.5. That was both surprising and validating. According to the test, I have a stronger-than-average capacity to handle adversity, which makes me feel like all those stressful late nights and last-minute academic recoveries have built more grit than I realized.

Let’s break it down. I got 22 at Control, meaning I tend to feel like I have a decent grip on tough situations. I don’t just throw my hands in the air when things go sideways. Ownership, at 14, is my lowest, which tells me I might sometimes dodge the blame or hesitate to take full responsibility when the pressure is on (hello, group projects?). And Reach, at 21, shows that I’m usually good at keeping one bad moment from poisoning everything else. It’s like failing a quiz doesn’t mean my whole week is ruined. And finally, Endurance at 24 is my highest. It means that even when things get rough, I know they won’t last forever. I ride out the storm with hope in my pocket. So overall, this result didn’t just measure how I handle problems, it reminded me that I’m tougher than I think. It also means that there’s room to grow, especially when it comes to owning my setbacks and learning from them.

All these did not just manifest on their own. My experiences have been a major contributor to why I respond to challenges the way I do. I wasn’t born knowing how to bounce back from failure or how to keep a cool head in stressful situations, these came from lived moments. I remember nights when I was drowning in deadlines, juggling academic overload with personal responsibilities, thinking, “This is it. I’m done.” But every time I managed to pull through, it was like quietly stacking bricks in the foundation of my resilience.

My Control score didn’t come from nowhere. It came from learning how to calm the chaos, break tasks into manageable pieces, and force myself to move even when I didn’t feel ready. One example that really sticks out happened during finals week last semester. I had three major deadlines landing within the same 48-hour window: a research paper, a group presentation, a bunch of learning evidence, and exams. I remember sitting in my room, staring at my computer screen with the cursor blinking like it was mocking me. For a moment, I felt paralyzed. Everything felt too loud, too heavy, and too much. I was so overwhelmed I cut off all communication with everyone. I didn’t reply to messages. I didn’t talk to my group mates. I just shut down. But even in that silence, something inside me whispered: Okay. One step at a time. I took a deep breath, grabbed a paper, and wrote down everything I had to do in order of urgency. I stayed up through the night, and ticked tasks off one by one. It wasn’t pretty. There were a lot of tears, caffeine and energy drink accompanied with palpitation, and more than one existential crisis, but I got it all done. That experience taught me that control isn’t always about feeling confident or calm. Sometimes, it’s just about choosing not to drown when the flood hits.

The low Ownership score? Yeah… that one hit a little too close. It reflects those moments where I’ve found it easier to shift the blame than sit with my own slip-ups. I’d point fingers at tech glitches, vague instructions, or even teammates who vanished like ghosts in the group chat. And sure, those things were real problems, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t blameless either. One time that really made this clear was during my time as class president for CWTS. It was a role packed with pressure. I have to coordinate activities, attend meetings (that made me miss classes), keep the class updated, and somehow also be the emotional sponge for everyone else’s stress. Our community immersion was one of the failures I have had as a leader. I wasn’t fully informed by the instructors. I just assumed the instructors would actually be instructing . I had hoped everything would fall into place. When it didn’t, I felt cornered and frustrated, and my first instinct was to mentally tally all the people who should have done more. But after the dust settled, I kept hearing that phrase: Being a leader means everything is your fault. It stung. But it also stuck. Because real leadership isn’t just about taking credit when things go right. It’s owning the messes too, even when they aren’t entirely yours. That’s something I’m learning to lean into. Not to beat myself up, but to ask: What could I have done differently? And that’s something I want to work on, because real growth comes from accountability.

As for Reach, my score of 21 tells me that I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, how to put boundaries around my problems. But that wasn’t always the case. There was a time when one bad grade could ruin my whole week. One failed quiz would make me question my entire worth as a student. I’d spiral, let it eat at my confidence, and suddenly everything, from my group projects to my personal life, felt tainted by that single failure. But through experience (and a lot of inner pep talks), I began to train my mind to treat setbacks like isolated storms, not entire forecasts. I remember a semester when I totally bombed a midterm in one of my major subjects. It was humiliating. I wanted to shut down, give up on everything else—but I had other classes, deadlines, and org work to keep up with. I told myself, “This one failure doesn’t define the rest." So I compartmentalized. I grieved the bad grade for a night, then boxed it up, put it on a shelf, and tackled the rest of my tasks. That shift to not let one fall trip up my whole stride helped me keep moving. That’s what Reach is all about: not letting the darkness of one corner spread into everything else.

As for Endurance, it’s probably high because I’ve survived cycles of burnout and still chose to show up the next day, even if it was with Redbull in one hand and sheer willpower in the other. Every setback became less about defeat and more about finding a way forward. Every midterm and finals season feels like a battleground for my endurance. It's like a never-ending boss fight with no save point in sight. I juggle multiple quizzes stacked back-to-back, group projects that rely on uneven teamwork, learning evidences that demand creativity and clarity under pressure, and exams that seem to drain the last bit of knowledge I thought I had. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once. There were nights when I stared at my screen, unable to think straight, my eyes dry from too much light and too little rest. I’d switch tabs from a code editor, to Canva, to Messenger, to a Google Doc, then back again, never really finishing anything, just trying to do something. I was running on red bull, anxiety, and sheer obligation.

And yet, I endured. Not gracefully, but I kept showing up. Even when my work wasn’t perfect. Even when my confidence was shot. Even when my only win for the day was that I didn’t disappear. Endurance is not about the absence of pain, but the decision to keep walking through it. To keep submitting. To keep answering. To keep being present, even if all I had to offer was the tired version of me.

At the end of the day, my AQ score result isn’t just a number, it’s a mirror. It shows me where I’ve been, what I’ve learned, and how I can level up from here. A snapshot of who I am under pressure, where I’ve stumbled, and where I’ve stood back up. It’s not about being unbreakable, but being flexible enough to bend without snapping. Every low score? An invitation to grow. Every high one? A reminder of the battles I’ve already survived. If resilience is a muscle, then every challenge I’ve faced is a rep. And I’m still lifting, still learning, still leveling up. Because in this long game of life, bouncing back is the real power move.

So yeah, I’ve got things to work on. I’m still figuring out how to protect my peace. Still teaching myself that burnout isn’t a badge of honor. But knowing my CORE score gave me more than just data—it gave me direction. It reminded me that resilience isn’t loud or glamorous. It’s quiet. It's messy. And sometimes, it's just showing up to class with Redbull in your bloodstream and regret in your bones, but still doing the damn thing anyway. That’s growth. And for now? That’s enough.