The meaning of the word accomplishment could be taken in any form, not necessarily a big event or a little event. It is something that was taken into hand, and done with a successful outcome to whomever it may be. For me to choose an accomplishment, major or not, isn’t possible. Even a minor achievement is part of a bigger picture. To mark what point of my life I grew up, never really happened. Yes, I can buy my own bedsheets, make dinner, clean around the house, keep focused, though it doesn’t mean I ever matured. I’ve grown up into a young adult who takes on the responsibilities of her life, but in my heart and mind, I never stopped coloring outside the lines. Which is why I am my biggest accomplishment.

When I was younger, there would be at the most, 10 of us around the table. I’ve grown up with four older sisters and two younger brothers. It was never quiet, and the bar for being an exceeding kid was set pretty high. It was always don’t be like this sister, set a good example for that brother. It was make your parents proud in school, and don’t sass back to the teachers. Show respect to adults, eat your vegetables, be a good kid. It was never make yourself proud, never make sure you’re okay. To grow up in that mind set, it has side effects that can impact who you are as an individual.

When my parents split, I was in 5th grade, and that was the beginning of my side effects. I felt the need to make them more proud than ever. To show them that I am perfect. The perfect daughter they’ve always wanted. I learned to cook meals, clean an entire house, get up on my own, make lunches for school, prep breakfast, get my brother’s up, all while managing band, and my perfect grades. It made them proud, made my parents smile after such a difficult time. Not once do I remember myself smiling at my achievements.

I would go to bed around one in the morning, wake up at 6, only for the same day to repeat itself. I turned to coffee to keep myself awake, even though I still felt drained all the time. I smiled and acted as if nothing could be better. I would get A’s on my report card and always helped the teacher when they needed it. Didn’t argue back or state that I wasn’t okay, all because my younger self saw the need to make everyone around me happy. From what started as being perfect for my parents, not repeating the same mistakes as my older sisters, turned into being perfect for my teachers and friends awell.

Unfortunately, the word perfect doesn’t exist within a human abilities. People can do their best at school and exceed past the required limits, but it’s never perfect. Making a record on painting a picture may seem like its perfect, but it never is. Nothing is ever perfect. Perfect is a word that was set as an example in early elementary school as to who I should be. When you start to slip on your grades because life is tiring, you are no longer perfect in the school’s eyes. When arguing with your parents becomes more apparent, no longer the perfect child. When plans are cancelled on friends because greeting the day seems like too much work, you are no longer the perfect friend.

I was no longer the perfect anything to anyone. I was exhausted and tired of trying to please everyone, and the one thing that I kept pushing to the side and ignoring was myself. All of the hurt caught up to me and pushed me back. Like I was being knocked over by a gust of wind, losing my breath and holding onto my chest. Like I was hit by reality in a sense. All of the things I was doing, I thought they’d make me perfect. To exceed as who I was, to be better and achieving in life, to make the people surrounding me, happy.

Being someone who tried most of her adolescent life to please everyone, making a mistake terrified me. The feeling of seeing someone cute in public, also referred to ‘butterflies’, is a lot like how I felt. Except they weren’t butterflies. They were pterodactyls, on fire, in hell. Having the queasy feeling and a million thoughts racing through your mind of how much you messed up. How much you failed at what perfectness is supposed to be there. In other words, it’s like working on a cake, spending hours upon hours perfecting this cake. Making everything from scratch, using fondant, proper decorating tools, taking time to make it this perfect masterpiece, but then you drop it. Right onto the floor. In that moment, the feeling that rages out, that’s the feeling I get.
Every time I disappoint someone, I get that feeling. Time after time it sinks in and I feel guilty for not being perfect. But time after time, the feeling isn’t so strong. I control it, replace it with different feelings. Look at the reasonable side of the situation, whatever it may be. Because perfect doesn’t exist. Perfect is a word that has more meaning to it than one would think. Perfect is millions of sunsets and bright stars. Perfect is the melodies of songs and a C- on a math test. Just like accomplishments, it’s a million in one ways.

There’s no way to say what time in my life I grew up. Nothing can define where I stopped being who I was. I can only learn from who I was to make who I am. To mark my transition or define my life with a single accomplishment isn’t who I am. I am the morning sun and evening sky, night stars and changing moons, I am my past, present, and future, I’m an accomplishment all together. Every day is a marking point of maturing in life, but never in age. Because the perfection I was trying to reach, and the failure I was setting myself up for, go hand in hand. To fail at what I thought was the most important thing is life, really aren’t.

I am my own accomplishment in life because I pushed past who I thought I should be. Because in a past where I thought I had to please everyone around me, isn’t who or what I supposed to do. I am my biggest accomplishment in life because who I am now is better than who I thought I had to be.