The pressure is suffocating. The expectations unreal. Trading in veins for wires, blood for oil, heart for a motor, and skin for steel. Mistakes are not real and if made, all the pressure on you comes raining down, flattening you into someone else. This new you is not your old you, it is a timid, disheartening you. As the criticism is being engraved into you, your mind traces the carvings of the old ones. Mentally wincing at every word being said, but showing no reaction physically. The thing that is expected can never be obtained.

It is not an uncommon action for people to picture the “perfect” object, plan, person, and so on. The downside of picturing perfection is that it can never be achieved. For example, a small dog is the perfect pet for some people, on the other hand, a big dog or even a cat is the perfect pet. The pressure that is flattening me is having to be “perfect” and it is not the least amount of fun. My coaches, teammates, family, and some friends are the people that weigh down the load of having to be flawless the most.

When I make a mistake on the basketball court, I usually get yelled at or subbed out for just one tiny mistake in the span of a whole game. It is not just me though, my other teammates get the same treatment, unless the coach knows they have to expect that result of the person every time. When I am on the basketball court, I get this gut wrenching feeling and the moments seem to haunt me. The air is heavy with the warm breath of people. The constant pounding noise echoes throughout the gym. The shrill of a whistle is heard and is followed by complaints of why it sounded. The announcer's voice roars over the thunder of the crowd. Yells from parents and friends fuse into one single shout. The buzzer blares and the clock is set for half-time. Jogging over to the bench sends my heartbeat awry and launches my heart into my throat. The beads of sweat streaming down my face do not go away after I wipe them with the dry-fit material of my jersey. When I arrive to the bench, I can feel my ponytail sagging and the tightness of my pre-wrap. I watch as the rest of my team sits down on the bench. My coach approaches us, it is obvious that he is pinning down his anger. His pearly white teeth pop out against his dark chocolate brown skin. He gets straight to the point of telling us what we did wrong and how we can improve it. Slowly, his voice starts to rise into rage filled shouting. He loses control and tightens his hold on the play-board, his knuckles turning white. His eyes dart from person to person, criticizing every part of what they left on the court. He straightens up and takes a sharp turn to face the court, suprsinginly still gripping the board. He did not let it fly this time. He turns back to us and my eyes are drawn to the sweat starting to form on his forehead. We know he loves us and is just trying to enhance our IQ of the game and strengthen our weak points, but the constant hammering of the criticism mentally wears us out. You would never think that this man is the most kindest and loving person I know.

This expectation of perfection does not only apply to just my sports, it applies to the place where I should be able to be myself and relax after a stress filled day. The warm scent of vanilla hits you as you walk in the door. The barking of a dog can be heard and his followed by the pitter patter of its paws. A black streak can be seen sliding across the cool tile floor and then a white and brown dog saunters after it. Two dogs jump up and one wags its tail as the other wiggles its butt. After being happy and distracted by the two cute canines, the realization of where I am sends a quick message to my brain. Swiftly, I make my way up to my room with my bookbag on my back and my book or books in hand. I lunge myself up the stairs, skipping a step everytime I extend my leg upwards and out. I take a tight turn to my left as I hit the second floor. I shut my door before anyone can say anything and I make sure to lock it. I plop down on my bed, relieved that I made it to my oasis without any problems. I am scared to face the criticism at my house and take cover in my room. I know that I cannot hide in my room forever, but it gives me a small time frame of being away from all the pressure I feel. Having to be perfect in my parents eyes has the biggest toll on my mind and body. For example, if I get one bad test grade, which is anything less than an A, they get frustrated and go on about everything I should not have been doing and giving random and not even relevant reasons on why I did so bad. When my sister gets a bad grade, they acknowledge it was bad and they just say stuff like do better next time. I do not want to be coddled, but there are breaking points and humans can only take so much, we are not machines.

Overall, perfection can never be reached and should not be a standard for anything or anyone. I have stopped doing travel basketball, so the stress of that has been stripped away. I still face having to make no mistakes at soccer however, my coach is more understanding and does not get mad at us for mistakes every time, just most of the time. My house is not as rough anymore because I have been defending myself against it and have learned to block out most of the criticism, even though it is still hard to hear it. I have had so much criticism and pressure loaded onto my shoulders that over the years, it has slowly chipped away at my self confidence. In the end, I am slowly building my self confidence back up and applying criticism that is meant to help me to my day-to-day life.