No humiliation compares to sitting idly still in Mrs. Smith’s fifth-grade classroom anxiously anticipating the subject shift from science to language arts. 

If you spoke to me now, my petite poetry collection, admiration for English class, deep love for using big words, my nearly one hundred published stories, and a multitude of personal journal entries from over the years would have you convinced that writing has always been my passion—but you could not be more wrong. 

The little ten-year-old girl, who had a shiny metal-filled mouth, bangs that didn’t quite fit her adolescent face yet, and an inability to process words quite as fast as the rest of her classmates, wanted nothing more than to be the exact same as her peers.

However, every day right before lunch and after a rambunctious recess, Mrs. Smith’s science lesson came to a close, and the rest of my friends were instructed to take out their books. I was called out of the classroom and taken to an entirely different room to learn at a slower pace. 

Even now, as I desperately punch at the keys on my computer in order to dramatically display the valid feelings of a young Allie, I know it doesn’t sound as awful as I make it out to be, but as a little girl, this was the height of embarrassment. 

I so badly wanted to be considered intelligent because I always knew I was. however, for some reason, I had to work extremely hard to prove that to the rest of the world—they just never seemed to believe me. Getting pulled out of class was the equivalent of wearing a neon sign around my neck that read “I am bad at English.” 

However, this being said—now that I am extremely fond of words and all the wonderful comforts they have provided me—one of the most annoying parts of growing up is reflecting on the hindrances of your younger self. 

Upon reflection, I no longer find myself wanting to wither away like a pebble that’s been stepped on one too many times. I no longer feel anger towards the people that patronized me or made me feel less than simply because they could read more words per minute. 

Instead, I feel an overwhelming need to thank the people that did believe in me. The ones that helped convince the rest of the world I was smart and never let me doubt my intelligence even after years of being told I was different, less then. 

Those are the people that I hope read my articles, those are the people that I hope are proud of me, those are the people that made me fall in love with words because they are the ones who taught me to not fear insecurities, but rather overcome them with the utmost confidence and determination.