“Wow, she is so mature for her age”—at first, it seemed like a compliment. I didn’t argue or fuss; I just listened and did my work. I wasn’t like other children, and now that my childhood is virtually over, I regret it.
Maturity seemed like a golden ticket into adulthood, but I’ve realized all I got was robbed. I felt like I couldn’t exactly be a child, but nobody failed to remind me I still wasn’t an adult—because no matter how much responsibility was hoisted on my shoulders, I “ain’t grown.” I didn’t cry because I felt that was for kids, and I wasn’t like other kids. I was different, mature.
I couldn’t make mistakes because that was out of character for me, because “I knew better”—but honestly, I didn’t. Nobody taught me to be mature. I just felt I had to grow up faster because of the experiences I’ve been through. Maturity is such a scam. How am I too old to do things that normal kids my age do?
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t all that mature, honestly. I was afraid, obedient. I was scared that I’d be labeled a “bad kid”, scared to get bad grades, scared to be different. Harboring all that at such a young age was and should have been exhausting, and I’m still reeling from the effects of that now. The years I should have spent learning who I was were spent learning how to be more liked, more palatable. It’s not as if the adults around me knew how it’d affect me, but putting such a label on someone so young, without allowing them to grow outside of it, becomes suffocating.
Then came the comparisons. There was always somebody telling their child to be more like me, leading to me becoming performative as my entire existence, feeling like I couldn’t make any mistakes or it’d all come crashing down, like I was an art piece in a museum instead of a person—a child. Or me being told to act more like someone else. It was never outright, of course, but the subtle comparisons of what others could do that I couldn’t made me feel as if I was on a hamster wheel, trying to reach the top. Yet I was staying in the same place. No matter how good I was (till this day, I don’t know at what), I was never going to be high enough on the pedestal I was placed upon.
As much as 6, 10, 13, maybe even 15-year-old Amiyah would hate to hear me say it, I’m tired of being mature. I no longer wish to stone face the world. I want to feel, I want to frolic, I want to express myself. Maturity is a scam. And now I’m stuck relearning everything it robbed from me.
I couldn’t make mistakes because that was out of character for me, because “I knew better”—but honestly, I didn’t. Nobody taught me to be mature. I just felt I had to grow up faster because of the experiences I’ve been through. Maturity is such a scam. How am I too old to do things that normal kids my age do?
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t all that mature, honestly. I was afraid, obedient. I was scared that I’d be labeled a “bad kid”, scared to get bad grades, scared to be different. Harboring all that at such a young age was and should have been exhausting, and I’m still reeling from the effects of that now. The years I should have spent learning who I was were spent learning how to be more liked, more palatable. It’s not as if the adults around me knew how it’d affect me, but putting such a label on someone so young, without allowing them to grow outside of it, becomes suffocating.
Then came the comparisons. There was always somebody telling their child to be more like me, leading to me becoming performative as my entire existence, feeling like I couldn’t make any mistakes or it’d all come crashing down, like I was an art piece in a museum instead of a person—a child. Or me being told to act more like someone else. It was never outright, of course, but the subtle comparisons of what others could do that I couldn’t made me feel as if I was on a hamster wheel, trying to reach the top. Yet I was staying in the same place. No matter how good I was (till this day, I don’t know at what), I was never going to be high enough on the pedestal I was placed upon.
As much as 6, 10, 13, maybe even 15-year-old Amiyah would hate to hear me say it, I’m tired of being mature. I no longer wish to stone face the world. I want to feel, I want to frolic, I want to express myself. Maturity is a scam. And now I’m stuck relearning everything it robbed from me.
Amiyah Allen
