It is never very fun to have someone tell you something about yourself you did not want to hear. Maybe it is a professor handing back a paper you thought was genius with a C+ on the front and more red ink than text. Maybe it is your best friend gently suggesting that you were kind of a jerk during that group project meeting. In moments like this, your chest may tighten, and you may feel a hot flash of embarrassment. Maybe you rehearse a million comebacks in your head or craft a tight, polite comment dripping in passive aggression.

However, what you do in circumstances like these says everything about the type of person you are.

University is a place overflowing with ambition, insecurity and the quiet pressure to “make something of yourself,” and it is easy to wrap your identity in your accomplishments and take any criticism or comparative success as a direct hit to your worth.. Being able to take criticism or be genuinely happy for someone who is somewhere you want to be  is not just a nice little virtue. It reflects your character when everything in you wants to pout.

There is a myth that smart people always welcome criticism. Intelligence does not automatically make you receptive, but it can make you better at defending your ego. You know how to argue, dress up your denial in academic language and gaslight yourself into thinking you are above improvement. What takes maturity is sitting in the discomfort of someone pointing out your flaws—and not flinching.

People who can take criticism with grace are not doormats. They are not devoid of pride or ambition. What they have is something better, which is a sense of grounded-ness. They know who they are outside of their mistakes, so when someone points out an area where they fell short, it does not shatter them. It stings, but they do not let the sting speak louder than the truth.

This extends beyond one-on-one feedback. It shows up in the quiet, internal battles no one sees — like being able to celebrate someone else when they land the internship you applied for or get into the graduate program you have been dreaming about. It is so easy to tell yourself you are happy for them. It is harder to feel it, especially when you are still reeling from your own rejection. If you can only celebrate others when you are doing well, your happiness is not generous, it is conditional.

Being able to be happy for someone, especially when they are living a version of your own dream, is emotional strength. It takes strength to redirect your envy into admiration and your insecurity into inspiration. I am not talking about some fake, toxic positivity where you ignore your own sadness, but real, vulnerable acknowledgment.

Jealousy is not necessarily evil, but directional in how it points you to what you value. If you are willing to listen to it without letting it poison your heart, it can become one of your most powerful teachers. That pang you feel when your friend gets the thing you wanted is a sign reminding you that this matters to you. 

The easy way out is bitterness, which is usually the default setting. Writing off other people’s successes as luck or pretending they are less deserving, making yourself feel better by making them seem smaller. That kind of self-soothing is like drinking salt water — you feel full for a second, but it only makes you thirstier.

The harder — but infinitely more rewarding — route is ownership. You do not have to fake joy. You just must choose not to weaponize your pain against others. Over time, your capacity to celebrate others catalyzes growth in your capacity to believe in yourself. You stop seeing success as sacred. You stop thinking someone else’s win is your loss. You start realizing that you are building your own timeline, one that does not get shorter just because someone else’s moved faster.

It all comes down to emotional maturity, a phrase that does not get nearly enough airtime in academic settings but underpins nearly every moment of adult life. Maturity is what allows you to sit in a seminar and hear someone challenge your idea without crumbling. It is what makes you trust that your path is yours — not a race, not a competition, not a stage where everyone else is performing just to remind you are not enough.

When you start embracing criticism and celebrating others sincerely, something fundamental shifts. You stop being ruled by fear of being less-than. You start to realize that growth is not linear, validation is not a currency you need to hoard and people can shine without dimming your light.

Your reaction to people’s successes is tied to your reputation and more importantly, to your reality. The goal is not to never feel bruised, but to feel the bruise and still choose grace repeatedly.

After all, the most resilient people are not the ones who never fall apart. They are the ones who know how to gather the pieces, applaud others while rebuilding their own and take every piece of criticism not as an attack — but as an invitation.

If you can learn to do that, you will be unstoppable.