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I always expected greatness from myself. I took pride in somehow always being better than those around me. I don’t really know what it is, but it’s almost as if I have to prove myself over and over again. A lot of people say I’m conceited, and maybe I am, but I don’t see it that way. I don’t care about materialistic things or anything like that, but for some reason I have to be better, to do better in every way. My mom says I have a perfectionist complex, who knows, maybe she’s right.

I wasn’t always like this. In fact I pretty much had the most humble childhood you could possibly imagine. I grew up on a farm in a small town in South Texas. It was honestly as stereotypical as you could imagine. We had cows, pigs, horses, the whole nine and honestly, I absolutely loved it. Every day was a new adventure for me. I was probably six or seven and I remember I went around and named every single cow that my grandma had. I was happy.

There was this old barn at the furthest corner of my grandma’s property and I remember I used to love spending all my time there. We’d milk the cows and brush the horses, and at night we would all sit around a campfire and listen to the crickets while looking up at the night sky. In the summer I’d spend my time swinging back and forth on the rope swing that was tied to the roof of the barn. Now that I think about it I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that safe. I can’t believe my parents let me do that for hours. I did fall off once and sprained my wrist, but that didn’t stop me from getting right back on and doing it again. I was always the happiest in that old barn.

Everything was great, until I turned eleven and we moved to Houston. We left the farm and my grandma and I was devastated. I had been perfectly happy with my local school and all my friends and now I was going to have to readjust. That’s when life became very difficult for me.

Kids can be very mean, especially during middle school. I remember when I first started sixth grade in my new school, I had no friends. In fact, I was made fun of because I grew up on a farm and I came from Mexican immigrants. They all called me “cow-pie” and I went home crying pretty much every day for a year. I remember being so embarrassed of my family that one day I basically went off on my parents and blamed them for forcing me to grow up on a farm. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have never been bullied in school.

One day when I was a freshman in high school I remember vividly being in the girls’ bathroom when a group of girls came in and looked me up and down.

“You do realize this isn’t the rodeo right?” One of them said to me while the other girls snickered in the back. “Oh I’m sorry, you must have just come from milking your cows or whatever you do on a farm.”

I looked down at my faded jeans and back up to them and they all started laughing hysterically as they walked out of the restroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and could see the tears welling up in my eyes, both out of anger and embarrassment. “Why is everyone so cruel?” I whispered to myself. After a few minutes I wiped my eyes and gathered myself. It was on that day that I decided to completely transform myself and become someone everyone would be in awe of. I didn’t care what it took, but I was going to be someone great. “The farm girl is dead.”

Well, here I am fifteen years later living in New York City getting ready for New York Fashion Week and living the life I only dreamed of at fourteen years old. I completely remade myself and created a new, better version of the girl I used to be. Nobody here knows my history. My parents are still living in Texas, I talk to them a few times a week, but I haven’t spoken to my grandma in years. My dad tells me that she asks about me all the time, but I don’t know what to say to her. I left that part of my life behind.

“Okay I think that’s it Miss Natasha. Everything is ready,” our newest intern, Ana, called out to me from the stage. “We just need to finalize the shoes and we’ll be set.”

“Good. Let’s make sure there are no mistakes this week. Cassandra left me in charge so I’m depending on you to help me make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Cassandra is my boss. She owns one of the largest designer companies in New York. I’ve been working for her for a few years now. I love my job, but it can be very stressful at times, especially right now. I have a lot riding on this project. She told me a few months ago that if this year’s Fashion Week goes well I would easily get promoted to her Marketing Executive. I would oversee all corporate decisions when it came to rebranding and seasonal designs. It’s what I’ve been working towards since I interned for her in college.

“I don’t know how you do it Miss Natasha.” Ana snapped me out of my deep thought.

“Do what?” I asked her.

“How you keep it all together and make everything look so easy. I feel so stressed all the time, but I force myself to keep going. My parents keep telling me how proud they are of me, but sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve it. I’m just an intern.” I couldn’t help but feel the slightest pang of empathy. I had been exactly where she was a few years ago.

“Trust me Ana, you are not alone. I started off as an intern just like you. I had just graduated college and I knew what I wanted to do, but I had no idea how to get there. Nobody here knows this, but I grew up on a farm. My parents were immigrants.”

Her jaw dropped. “I had no idea! Why don’t you tell people?”

“I didn’t want any of that to define me. I was bullied in school because of it, so I decided to just keep it to myself and do whatever it took to become someone great. To this day it’s still very hard for me to think back to my childhood and not want to cry. I suffered a lot as a teenager because I was ashamed of where I came from.”

“Wow. Your parents must be so proud of you though. I mean, look at how much you’ve accomplished!” She waved her hands around the venue in awe.

“I mean, I’m sure they are, but I don’t really think about that. I don’t know if I necessarily tried to make them proud. If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m pretty selfish. Everything I’ve done and everything I’ve accomplished was because I didn’t want to be ‘the farm girl’ anymore.”

“That makes sense, but if you think about it, if you had never been ‘the farm girl’ you might have never become who you are today.” She smiled at me. As she began to gather her things to leave she called out, “Don’t worry about the show. We got this!” And with that she waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd of employees leaving for the day.

That night, what Maria said really stuck with me. Have I been hating that farm girl from my past for too long when all she did was make me who I am? “What am I doing?” I asked myself as I sat on my sofa staring out at the New York City skyline. Almost as if she could sense something was wrong, my phone started buzzing. An incoming call from my mom.

“Hey mom.” I spoke into the phone half in thought.

“Hi! I wanted to call you to see how you were doing. I know Fashion Week is starting soon. Is everything okay?” She asked me.

At that point I just about broke down. Everything I thought I knew, I didn’t. I worked so hard to erase that damn farm from my head. Was it worth it? Who had I become?

“Mom I’m a mess! I honestly don’t know what I’m doing anymore! I’m more successful than I could’ve ever imagined. I’m literally living my dream, but I feel so unfulfilled. I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never going to be enough!” I started to feel tears streaming down my cheeks.

“What do you mean? This is what you’ve always wanted and you worked so hard to get here.”

“Yes, I know, but did I lose myself along the way?”

She stayed silent. Well, there was my answer. My own mother didn’t have to tell me what I already knew.

“Mom what happened to me? When did I become so cold?” I whispered.

“You’re not cold you just…you just knew what you wanted and did whatever it took to get there. I know it was hard for you when we moved and I’m sorry for that, but you also completely let go of your old life.”

We both stayed quiet for a few minutes until she broke the silence.

“You grandma called today. She asks about you every time she calls.”

At that point I felt a huge knot in my throat. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my grandma until that very moment.

“Maybe you need a getaway, you know, from the big city. I think you should go visit the farm.”

“I don’t know if I can do that! I’ve spent so many years forgetting about my childhood there. Even if I could go, I can’t right now!” I started hyperventilating at the thought of screwing up Fashion Week and losing my promotion.

“I didn’t say go right now. Do what you need to do at work, get through this week, and once Fashion Week is over, take a few days and go see your grandma. At least think about it.”

I promised her I would think about it, but on the final day of Fashion Week I still wasn’t sure if I had the guts to go back there. Despite all that, I bought my plane ticket and made my way back to Texas. I drove six hours to go back to where my childhood memories began.

I drove a few more miles and all I could see were fields of hay and cows grazing. I felt a smile cross my face as I remembered all the cows I had named. As I drove up to my grandma’s house I could see her waiting on the porch sitting in her favorite rocking chair. My parents must have told her I was coming. I got out of my car and slowly walked up to her with my head down thinking she would be upset with me since I haven’t spoken to her in so long. Instead she got up and held her arms open with the warmest smile on her face. “My Nati,” She said as she embraced me. That’s what she used to call me when I was little. Immediately I began to cry at the feel of her familiar embrace. She still smelled like hay and coffee.

“I’m so sorry Abuela.” I cried into her shoulder.

“It’s okay mija. This is your home.” She said to me as we stayed there on the porch hugging each other and reliving all those beautiful childhood memories.