So here’s the thing: I’ve never really been a sucker for success.

I’ve spent all my life worrying about other things, things I’m not even going to mention. It would take me at least another three pages to explain it.

Instead, I’ve been worried of being a failure, of disappointing others. I’ve spent my whole life scared that I’m going to fail, scared people will never like me again if I do. I seriously had a panic attack when I accidentally broke a vase in my house. It was 30 bucks on Amazon.

And when I do something amazing? When I do succeed? I’m so brain-dead from stressing about it so much that I can’t even enjoy the praise without feeling bad. I often tell myself, “Why did I stress so much? This should have been easier. Look how carefree everyone else seems.”

Blame it on my parents, and their oh-so-wonderful parenting styles. Blame it on society, that deems anyone less-than-perfect pathetic. Blame it on whatever, I don’t care. Today, I’m here to talk about why I changed my state of mind.

It was summertime and I was sitting at home, with nothing to do. Just like all the other days in summer, I was alone, and very, very, VERY bored. I tried video games, board games, all the games. Nothing helped to quench my thirst for mental engagement. So I decided to go over to my parents’ shop.

It’s a nice little pottery shop where people can come in and paint. I work there every summer, and yes, I get paid. Very cool, I know. We used to live right down the street from it, and I’d go whenever I felt so hopeless that the only thing I thought I could do was work. Usually the employees made me do menial tasks that no one else wanted to do, like cleaning the wet dishes.

I remember the awkward feeling of having glazing paint on my hands, how it would clump up and disperse as I washed each painting plate. I really enjoyed doing it at the time, and it often helped me with my constant stress, and desire to never disappoint the staff. Now that I look back on it, that’s probably one of the only things that made me want to keep going back.

The shop manager was there.I’m not going to tell you her name. Privacy matters, ya know? But she was the best. I’m so sure she’s the only reason we made money in that place. Anyway, she was taking pots out of the kiln, saw me when I entered the shop, and smiled. It’s a beautiful type of smile. The type of smile that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay.

I went inside, and it wasn’t all too busy. I don’t mean to brag, but I was a pretty good worker. I was eleven, but I still thought I was the powerhouse of the entire shop. I had a bit of an ego. She told me she needed to go home to get something, and she thought it was a good idea to leave a tween in charge of a shop with two people inside.

I told her I’d indeed be fine.

I was indeed not.

I swear on the heavens the second she got in her car and drove away, 20 people came inside. I even remember the order. First, was a family of four, with one toddler and one newborn. Then came this really nice old couple, a group of six teenagers who looked SO mean but were really actually super duper nice, and then two packs of women in their 20s. It was crazy.

You see, I looked like I was older, because I was wearing a mask and developed early for my age. But that does not mean I was old. It didn’t help that I acted mature for my age, so people often thought I was in college when I was not.

One of the 20-something-year-old women bumped into me while I was carrying plates of paint to another table. She then proceeded to yell her butt off, like that’s the most reasonable thing to do. I tried to explain to her that it was organic, water-based, paint, which could wash off with water, but she refused to listen. This whole time I was so scared I was going to make a huge mess of things and my manager would be so disappointed in me, so I kind of just caved in and went to the back to cry.

One of the other customers berated the young woman and she was shamed into leaving with her friends. Then, the old lady came to the back and gave me a hug. It was nice, it was nicer than nice. It was the type of hug I always wanted. The type of hug my mom wishes she could give me. 

She helped me feel better until the manager came back. When I saw her, I thought she was going to scream at me. Like yell at me about how stupid I am, and how I should have just managed on my own. That it wasn’t hard because she could do it and I should be better. 

But she apologized for leaving me alone. She told me that she should have never left me, and that just because I act mature does not mean she should have dumped that role on me. I don’t know, it felt nice, being treated like a child for once. People always expected me to be better, and so I did, because I couldn’t be anything less than.

Honestly, I don’t think an adult had ever apologized to me, until then. I think grown people often forget that children are human, that they do, in fact, feel the same things adults do. It’s so much worse since kids haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet. I felt my heart swell. Like I was going to explode from that feeling of acceptance and understanding. It was gut wrenching, and it felt so cruel because I knew then and there I wasn’t ever going to experience something like this ever again. 

And I haven’t.

She bought me a sandwich from the bakery next door, and then I went home and watched Ninjago until my parents came back home. They berated me for being lazy all day, even though I worked for a good four hours. I didn’t care though, because I learned that it was okay to act like a kid sometimes. I realized that day I shouldn’t be worried about going to work for nine hours straight because I’d feel useless if I didn’t. I realized that worrying about these things would get me nothing but stress. I also realized, I had parents that didn’t know how to say “I’m proud of you.”

After that, I wouldn’t say my anxiety went away, or my mature activities stopped. I would say though, that I realized how messed up it was, and I didn’t feel much pride from it. I just felt that they were things I had to do to survive. I didn’t worry as much if I failed, because I know that failing is what people do sometimes. Failing is just a form of learning, and failing is definitely not something that deserves panic attacks. It’s okay to look in the mirror one day and tell yourself, “Hey, I don’t feel like doing anything today.”