I feel selfish for admitting this, I really do. But sometimes I feel as though my identity is obscured by all the other titles I wear. Girlfriend, daughter, sister… Sometimes the achievements of those that surround me loom large over my head, like bright shiny skyscrapers casting shade on the squalid street corner I find myself begging at. Begging for recognition? Begging to be heard? Maybe begging to be something other than a girl who is the girlfriend of someone with sizeable achievements that look distinguished and great, is the daughter of a complete powerhouse who at 42 still has a slim figure, is the sister of a boy whose Speech and Debate trophies line the room. It seems selfish to want to be heard over all that noise. I think what is the most painful is feeling as though none of my achievements could possibly come close to everyone else’s. Always held in under the critical lens, like a bug under a microscope, how could I hope to compare? I feel like a three year-old, presenting everyone with a scribbled-on sheet of binder paper. “What is it sweetie?” It’s nothing. It is nothing.