Remember middle school? Ugh, yeah… me too. Those were the dark days – the years of unflattering hair cuts and unisex jeans and glasses that don’t make you look as cool as your mom promised. I, unlike so many, was able to escape fairly unscathed, with only the horrifying photos of my prior self to haunt me. I was promised for so long though, that eighth grade graduation would mark the end of my “awkward years” – that I would enter high school and the rest of my life as the calm, poised, crazy hot model of a person who had been waiting to introduce herself to the world. Turns out, I was lied to.

I can now say with complete certainty that my “awkward years” are not even close to over. More than likely, they will never come to an end. I am doomed to live life as a stretched out middle schooler, trying her best and yet still as embarrassing as can be. If you need help believing this, here’s a fun anecdote for you.

Last summer, I had found my way into an internship with the Illinois Restaurant Association. I was taking the train to a real life, grown-up office every day and learning (or attempting to learn) how to function in a business environment. I actually got to do some fairly important things, but since I was at the lowest point on the office totem pole, I came in one morning to find a note on my desk asking me to do the dishes. Because I am a simple, simple girl, I had no idea how to run a dishwasher, and, long story short, I heard the screams of coworkers and the VICE PRESIDENT OF THE COMPANY minutes after I had finished. I ran back into the kitchen only to find that it had been FLOODED. The door of the dish washer was heaving in and out, letting out steam and bubbles as if we were in a cartoon, my bosses were on the floor with towels, and I stood helplessly, mouth certainly wide open in mid-gasp, until I realized I should probably help clean up my mess. After we were done, I went to the bathroom and cried for 15 minutes. I also called my mom.

Since that day, I have bumped into inanimate objects and apologized in public. I have timed high fives incorrectly. I have tripped and fallen my way across campus (often swearing or screaming in the process), been walked in on while talking to myself, gone in for hugs people weren’t expecting, made long eye contact with strangers, spilled more food than I’ve eaten, and gotten stuck on the floor after trying and failing to put on a pair of pants. I have also realized that I am unable to do some fairly basic “adult” things. Until a few weeks ago, I could not fathom how to do laundry without Tide pods. I’m still not sure what to do about all those food stains. I’ve got no clue how to change a tire, taxes scare and confuse me, and I forget my social security number literally every time I’m asked for it.

I’m trying, though. And the beautiful thing is that I‘ve realized it’s much better to embrace your awkwardness than to try to hide it. Embarrassing moments can’t be camouflaged. At least one person will always see you fall. They’ll hear you belch louder than you anticipated or laugh at you when you yell at the washer and dryer. Haters gon’ hate, amirite? But don’t hide. Make a joke, laugh at yourself, and move on with your glorious day. We’ll grow up (or at least work on it) together, but taxes will always be hard. All my love on this journey – it’s gonna get weird.