Running from a Paragraph: How to conquer your fears

Victoria Isaac is a UNSW Bachelor of Commerce (International) student whose passion for languages, sustainability, and entrepreneurship has shaped her university journey.

Growing up in regional North Queensland, Victoria faced challenges with confidence and opportunity, often feeling uncertain about where she belonged.

Through the UNSW Gateway Admission Pathway Program, she gained the chance to pursue her dream degree—supported by a community that believed in her potential. Since then, Victoria has gone on to join the UNSW Founders’ Student Entrepreneurship Subcommittee and the New Wave Program, finding her voice and redefining what success looks like.

Now thriving in her studies and preparing for her international exchange, Victoria spoke with the UNSW Business School EDI team to share her lived experience and inspire other students to see that they too deserve to thrive at university, no matter where their journey begins.

I felt my heart climb into my throat as I heard my name. “Read the next paragraph, please.”

I opened my mouth and my breath reached deep into my vocal cords as I mouthed the first word hesitantly. It was Year 8 geography class, just after lunch, and outside was a sweltering tropical summer day in Northern Queensland.

Halfway through the first sentence, I started choking, then gagging. I was going to throw up just from the nerves. Adrenaline hammered to my head and before I knew it, I was running for my life out of the classroom. What felt as if a fire alit in front of my eyes was, in reality, the simple task of reading one paragraph aloud.

That scene replayed in my head for years. I had become paralysed every time I recalled the memory.

The catalyst to overcoming that memory began with a leap of faith: applying to the Bachelor of Commerce International at UNSW. I had never studied business in high school, but the international component had been my dream since COVID crushed my high school exchange to Japan. Reading the degree description online, I could almost feel the prestige of that certificate in my hands.

Then silence. The imaginary crickets were chirping as I fixed my eyes on that number. The ATAR requirement was higher than mine. Still, my hand moved with autonomy, and I applied anyway.

What I once called my delusional act of desperation became my lucky leap of faith.

UNSW’s Gateway program awarded bonus points for my regional background in North Queensland, giving me the chance to pursue my dream. I was not only accepted, but I also received a ten thousand dollar stipend that made studying possible. Without it, work would have taken priority, and my studies would have faded into the background.

For that, I am forever grateful for the opportunity the Gateway Program gave me.

Running towards my own path

However, I still found myself “running” in my first year of university.

I passed my classes, joined a society that I never participated in, and mumbled my way through presentations. I was sprinting to just keep in the boundaries of my comfort zone. When summer break arrived, I could not recall a single friend, memory, or moment that was significant to me in my first year.

I had dreams that were still only dreams, with no idea how to make them real. I wanted to create something, something to call my own.

Often, I walked into those types of environments as the youngest and one of the few women and often left each time with value, but also with the aftertaste of not belonging.

Yet in New Wave, that changed. In that space, my imposter syndrome did not disappear. It became clearer, more defined, and more mine to work with.

I once thought UNSW Founders would hold my hand. Instead, it guided me just far enough to face the question that mattered most: Which direction is yours? I realised then that my imposter syndrome was not a wall blocking my way. It was a compass guiding me toward purpose and away from a pitstop of comfort.

The "Yes Ma'am" and "No Ma'am"

I started saying yes to opportunities. Inspired by the movie ‘Yes Man’ which I never actually saw, hence the birth of my own: the Yes Ma’am theory.

When New Wave finalists were announced, I held my breath. I was not a top ten finalist. It stung, but I remembered the offer to all participants: to keep learning.

The concept of learning from failures is not revolutionary or even rare but was something that had been alien to me for most of my life.

The decision to keep learning is what led me to all my “Yeses” and subsequent “No’s”. 

Redirecting fear

I stopped seeing fear as a failure, as even in my degree, fear re-appeared. I learned that many students drop the international component of my degree when faced closer to the mandatory exchange year. I panicked, convinced I was doomed as the only student to undertake such a reckless and isolating experience. I was ready to drop it too, but I stopped myself.

I realised that giving up the opportunity would not erase the fear, rather would only manifest into the fear of what I gave up.

The urgency for my upcoming exchange felt personal, connecting me instantly to the disappointment when COVID halted my high school exchange to Japan. Now, after six years of relentless Japanese study, I was convinced an exchange to at least Asia was non-negotiable. This conviction, however, created a crushing expectation of how my exchange should be.

Subconsciously, my fear directed me elsewhere.

I subliminally set up my exchange application for failure: I overshot my top five preferences in Asia, and my last choice, Spain, was one I picked almost arbitrarily. I received my last-choice placement to Universidad de Navarra, a university based in regional northern Spain. It was a place I had never even heard of before.

My own act of self-sabotage in retrospect, was a redirection of fear. I was given the chance to redirect my fear of performing for the girl desperate to make it to Japan, to the new fear of the unknown landscapes and language of Navarra. In Spain, I will simply be free to experience my exchange without the aftertaste of my failed high school exchange.

Just like the leap of faith into UNSW’s Commerce (International) bachelor, this was my subconscious leap into the unknown. I will embark on my year-long exchange to Spain in just a few months, and although I am still nervous and fearful, I know this fear is better than remaining paralysed by the expectations I had intertwined so deeply with my studies of Japanese culture.

Further, it will be exponentially greater than sitting in Sydney with FOMO of my exchange opportunity. In any direction I went, fear would have still followed, and it taught me that:

Fear never disappears as it is not meant to be overcome, only redirected and to accompany you on the right path.

What I cannot teach you

I went to the gym for the first time at 16 and never left. Every day after school, I would look in the mirror after a workout, take a photo, and think, “Wow, I look huge.” Looking back now, it is endearing. I had no idea what strength really looked like on me.

The same is true of the mind. You cannot photograph its progress, but you can reflect on it through your memories, your writing, and your growth. Just like in few years’ time, I might look back on this article and cringe, but in a decade, I will be in awe of how I have evolved.

Like in the gym, the mind can be trained. Protein, or in this case, learning, can only take you so far. It’s the balance of fuel and “progressive overload” or “stepping outside your comfort zone” which breaks down and rebuilds you stronger than before.

University gave me many lessons, but the most profound ones are unspoken. Courage, reflection, and fear are not concepts that are taught, but rather muscles that are felt and trained.

Just as I trained my calves to run as fast as they could from paragraphs, I now train my mind, so that I don’t have to run from fear anymore.