The FE Exam Didn't Go the Way I Wanted — But Maybe That's Not the Point

Wow.

After I took the FE exam, I just never got back to doing one of these blog posts. Isn't that crazy?

I guess I've been chilling, but honestly, not really chilling at the same time.

I've been trying to process everything that happened.

I've been trying to process the exam.

I've been trying to process the possibility that I didn't pass.

And maybe the weirdest part is that I spent so much time telling people that I planned to pass it. I spent so much time convincing myself that I would pass it. I spent so much time preparing mentally for success that I never really prepared myself emotionally for the possibility that things might not go my way.

Now here I am.

Waiting.

Thinking.

Reflecting.

Questioning.

At this point, I honestly don't know anymore.

Maybe I passed.

Maybe I didn't.

Maybe I'm stressing over nothing.

Maybe I already know the answer and just don't want to admit it.

I don't know.

And honestly?

At this moment, I don't even give a fuck.

That's not me saying the FE exam isn't important.

It's extremely important.

But after you've put months of pressure on yourself, after you've sacrificed sleep, after you've spent countless hours studying, after you've carried the weight of an exam around in your head for so long, eventually your mind gets tired.

You reach a point where you simply can't keep worrying at maximum intensity anymore.

You become exhausted.

And that's kind of where I am right now.

Exhausted.

Disappointed.

Frustrated.

But also strangely calm.

Because regardless of what happens, the exam is over.

The work has already been done.

The questions have already been answered.

The clock has already run out.

Now all I can do is learn from it.

And surprisingly, I did learn something valuable.

One lesson in particular keeps replaying in my head.

The break.

The damn break.

It's funny because before taking the FE exam, I watched videos from people explaining their strategies.

One person talked about using the entire break period.

The logic made sense.

Take the full break.

Relax.

Reset mentally.

Recharge.

Come back refreshed.

Sounds reasonable, right?

Well, that strategy didn't work for me.

I ended up using almost all of my break time.

And when I came back to the exam, I realized I had basically screwed myself.

I remember seeing the clock.

I remember realizing I had lost time.

I remember feeling rushed.

I remember feeling frustrated.

I remember feeling like I had already started the second half of the exam behind.

And mentally, that affected me more than I expected.

Now, do I think that single mistake caused me to fail?

No.

Not at all.

That would be too simple.

Life is rarely that simple.

Exams are rarely that simple.

But what I do think happened is that the situation hurt my confidence.

And confidence matters.

When you're taking a long exam, confidence matters almost as much as knowledge.

The moment you start feeling discouraged, your pace changes.

Your mindset changes.

Your decision-making changes.

You start second-guessing yourself.

You start hesitating.

You start spending too much time on questions.

And before you know it, you're fighting the exam and your own emotions at the same time.

That's exhausting.

So if there's one lesson I'm taking forward from this experience, it's simple:

Don't abuse your break.

If you get a ten-minute break, maybe use four minutes.

Maybe use five.

Maybe stretch.

Maybe drink water.

Maybe use the restroom.

But don't disappear for the entire break.

Don't put yourself in a situation where you're rushing back into an important exam feeling stressed before the second half even begins.

That lesson alone may help me tremendously in the future.

Especially when it comes to my comprehensive exams.

Because those are coming.

Fast.

And honestly, that's the next mountain I have to climb.

The FE exam isn't even the biggest thing on my plate anymore.

Now it's the comprehensive exam.

Now it's research.

Now it's the Ph.D.

Now it's figuring out what my future looks like.

And speaking of research, here's another thing I haven't talked about much.

I'm currently searching for a new research advisor.

And honestly?

That's terrifying.

Because it feels like starting over.

It feels like going back to square one.

It feels like rebuilding momentum after you've already spent time trying to create it.

When you're in a Ph.D. program, research isn't just another assignment.

Research is the assignment.

Research is the thing.

Research determines timelines.

Research determines publications.

Research determines graduation.

Research determines opportunities.

And when uncertainty enters that process, everything feels unstable.

I've started thinking about timelines a lot recently.

People love talking about ideal timelines.

Three years.

Four years.

Graduate by this date.

Finish by that date.

Publish this many papers.

Do this.

Do that.

But real life doesn't always cooperate with ideal timelines.

Real life introduces complications.

Unexpected challenges.

Advisor changes.

Research obstacles.

Funding issues.

Personal struggles.

Mental health challenges.

Life happens.

And because of that, I'm starting to accept the possibility that my journey may take longer than I originally planned.

That doesn't mean failure.

It just means reality.

Still, I'd be lying if I said it doesn't bother me.

Because it does.

Sometimes I feel like I'm losing momentum.

Sometimes I feel like I'm losing motivation.

Sometimes I feel like I'm losing the spark I used to have.

And honestly, I think that's one of the hardest parts of growing up.

Nobody tells you that motivation changes.

When you're younger, motivation feels automatic.

Dreams feel exciting.

Goals feel exciting.

Everything feels exciting.

Then adulthood arrives.

Responsibilities arrive.

Bills arrive.

Stress arrives.

Pressure arrives.

And suddenly your motivation isn't fueled by excitement anymore.

It's fueled by discipline.

And discipline is a lot less glamorous than motivation.

Discipline means showing up when you don't feel inspired.

Discipline means working when you're tired.

Discipline means continuing even when progress feels invisible.

That's where I think I am right now.

Transitioning from motivation to discipline.

Transitioning from excitement to commitment.

Transitioning from dreaming about success to actually building it.

And honestly, growing up is weird.

It's really weird.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned recently is that nobody is coming to save you.

That sounds harsh.

But I think there's truth in it.

Nobody is going to care about your future more than you do.

Nobody is going to wake up every day obsessed with your goals.

Nobody is going to carry your dreams for you.

You have to do that.

Now, that doesn't mean nobody will help you.

People can help.

Mentors can help.

Professors can help.

Friends can help.

Family can help.

But here's what I've realized:

You don't need everybody.

You just need the right people.

One good mentor can change your life.

One good advisor can change your life.

One good friend can change your life.

One person who genuinely believes in you can make an enormous difference.

The mistake is expecting everybody to help.

Most people won't.

Some people can't.

Some people don't know how.

And some people are dealing with their own battles.

That's just reality.

So instead of searching for support everywhere, maybe the goal is finding the few people who truly matter.

The few people who genuinely care.

The few people who are willing to invest in your success.

As I sit here writing this, I don't know whether I passed the FE exam.

I don't know how my comprehensive exams will go.

I don't know who my next advisor will be.

I don't know exactly when I'll graduate.

I don't know what my future looks like.

But I do know this:

I'm still here.

I'm still trying.

I'm still learning.

I'm still moving forward.

And maybe that's enough for right now.

Maybe success isn't about never making mistakes.

Maybe success is about learning from mistakes quickly enough that they become stepping stones instead of roadblocks.

The FE exam may not have gone the way I wanted.

But it taught me something.

And right now, that's worth more than sitting around feeling sorry for myself.

The next chapter starts now.