I've never been a fan of being labeled a "brainiac" or "nerdy." Those tags often come with requests for my homework, leveraging compliments and, of course, cash. At 16, I started taking academic commissions. The lure of a six-figure income kept me going until the pandemic hit. I've used my intelligence as a cash cow. It's who I am—Sage Luxaire. Some call me "LUXurious," and it fits, not because I fancy pricey things, but because being a woman comes at a cost.
I chuckled at that thought as I realized it was nearly 6:00 AM. I felt tired but couldn't tear myself away from the couch. I mindlessly refreshed my social media and stared at homework and writing assignments I knew I wouldn't complete tonight. I was exhausted, yet I couldn't sleep. I struggled to control this odd behavior, but deep down, I knew why I was still sitting there, and I understood I wouldn't be able to change it. This behavior has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. As a kid, it was video games; now it's homework and social media.
I'm sure when I'm older, I'll find something else. I consciously tried to resist it, but my subconscious always prevailed. I did what I did for a simple reason – fear. I sighed and decided to step outside to buy a vanilla latte near my house. Going out alone was oddly more enjoyable than posing for pictures and having lunch with friends. It was a truth I kept to myself, though. I knew that once you said things out loud, they became real, and you couldn't pretend otherwise.
"I'll have a large skinny vanilla latte, please," I requested, waiting for the barista to hand over my coffee. I continued to check emails on my phone, scrolling casually through Instagram as I waited. Believe it or not, I was never a morning person. I had to force myself to wake up early for classes when my body naturally craved more sleep. The result? I got about 3 hours of sleep each day while tackling readings, reports, and tasks for the next day. It was exhausting, and this routine was something I had never followed before in my previous years.
During the day, I transformed into Jayson, the busy student leader. I strolled around campus, greeting friends, acquaintances, and even some students who knew me but whom I either forgot or had never truly met. I received compliments for my humor, positivity, and stylish outfits, making me feel "popular" and well-liked. I could take those words, smiles, and praises and play them on repeat in my mind, drowning out the doubts. But the night had a way of distorting things.
As I lay in bed, those compliments and smiles from the day felt shallow and empty. My mind would convince me that they only complimented me out of pity. Even if they were genuine, they didn't truly know me. If they did, they'd probably hate me. The worst part was, sometimes, I hated myself, and who knew me better than I did? My mind took over, and I tried to resist, but it felt like I was a prisoner within my own thoughts. It was a self-imposed torment.
Sometimes, I found myself trapped in an internal battle, a relentless conversation with myself. The world is silent, but my turmoil is deafening. I recalled a conversation with my 16-year-old brother:
"Why do you do this to yourself?" my brother asked, frustrated.
"Why stay up late, torturing yourself with work and social media when all you need is rest?"
"I'm afraid," I confessed.
"...Afraid of not being good enough, of failing, of not meeting the expectations I and others have set."
"People admire your intelligence, humor, and style. They see the best in you, Sage".
"Yes, they may see the best in me, but they don't know the real me," I whispered.
"They don't see the doubts, the insecurities, the fear that plagues me when the world is quiet and the facade is stripped away."
"But you are more than your fears and doubts," He insisted, his voice filled with compassion.
"You are a passionate and driven person, with dreams and goals that have pushed you to achieve remarkable things."
"That may be true," I conceded. "But there's a part of me that believes I'm not deserving of success. That deep down, I'm just a fraud pretending to be something I'm not."
I sighed, recognizing the destructive patterns I had allowed to control my life. "You don't have to pretend," He reasoned.
"You are enough as you are – flawed, vulnerable, and imperfect. Embrace your authenticity and allow yourself to be seen for who you truly are."
"But what if they don't like the real me?" the voice questioned, its vulnerability exposed. "What if I disappoint them, and they turn away?"
"It's not about them," He replied firmly. "It's about you, finding acceptance and love within yourself. Embrace your uniqueness and let go of the need for external validation. The only person you need to prove yourself to is yourself."
The conversation lingered in the stillness of the morning, the weight of the words sinking in. The truth was undeniable – I had been my own harshest critic, tearing myself down with every imagined flaw and failure. But perhaps, in the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope – the possibility of breaking free from the prison I had built for myself.
As I sipped my vanilla latte, the warmth seeping into my tired bones, I made a silent promise to myself – a promise to be kinder, gentler, and more forgiving. I vowed to challenge the negative thoughts that plagued me and to embrace the truth that I was worthy of love and acceptance, just as I was.
You might be surprised to know that sometimes, I don't really like being "me."