Me in 500 Words

The maddening attempt for perfection

Free Educational Experiences

A "Mad Minutes" worksheet that was a nightmare for me.

My tiny frame begins to shake. I'm only in third grade. Feeling hopeless. 

The paper beneath my left hand begins to bubble as sweat dries over it. I'm stumbling over which basic math equation to do next. My eyes dart from the page filled with symbols and numbers to the clock that clicks with each tick.

"Mad Minutes" began my spiral. Everyone else in class didn't seem to struggle.

I felt stupid. 

Why wasn't I good enough?

Crying became a routine. My tiny blue eyes blurred and burned as my parents sat in front of me attempting to comfort me, but it was hardly any use. 

They didn't understand at first why my brain went to mush because they would practice problems with me over and over again. I couldn't comprehend it either because I knew the answers.

So what was wrong? Welp, I couldn't handle the pressure of time constraints and I learned that the hard way. Pencils returned to the smooth divots on each desk as my friends completed their equations with time to spare. Warmth rushed over me and my cheeks flushed a bright pink as my teacher said, "Times up."

Did I fully overcome it? Not even close. The anxiety over grades and being perfect will always loom over me. However, little me would be extremely proud. Instead of letting my nerves consume me, I've learned to express to my parents that I feel immense pressure to continuously prove my worth.

If I didn't have my parents, I don't know where I would be. They embraced my frail body and told me that they were proud of me and wouldn't let me fail. Relief flooded over me. They weren't ashamed or angry.

Years later, I can happily say that those comforting words have never left me. I passed the third grade, which is a statement many people say with ease. But, for me, it was a huge accomplishment. It's funny now to see how far I've come.

I still despise timed exams. The ticking of the clock never stops in my ears and in my head. But I've learned that strategizing and preparing is how I gain confidence. As long as I've put in my best effort, I have zero regrets. 

I block out the noise. I ignore my beating heart and have laser focus. With my parents' kind words and effort, I don't feel like the odd one out anymore. 

I have embraced the idea of imperfection. I try my best solely for myself, instead of trying to impress others. I want to be successful and I know that with patience I will continue to grow.

As an 8-year-old, I didn't think I would ever be good at school. I thought I had hit rock bottom and wouldn't become anything. Looking back, I know it's dramatic but cut me some slack!

Making a mistake in school isn't the end of the world anymore. I still care, but I can breathe. I've let my internal guard of perfection down.

Me at 8, left, my little sister May at 4

and my dad with our tickets for The Harlem Globetrotters. 

Me having fun outside of school (even though I was probably panicking about math).