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Eyes Poem and connection: Walking in Winter by Sylvia Path - Not being able to/not wanting to hide emotions Hook: There I sit, fifteen years old and gripping the black fabric of my skirt so hard that my knuckles turn white. My boss sits across from me, her face calm as she tears me apart with her words. I’m left unable to defend myself due to my eyes starting to water and my throat shutting tight as if I’ve had an allergic reaction. I want to tell her how no one here has trained me properly, that I’ve never felt welcome with the other staff, that I’m filled with anxiety every time I enter this building and that what truly matters is that the kids love me, and they do. But instead, I say nothing, unable to stop my tears from falling. My boss calmly slides a box of tissues towards me, her face cold as ice. All I can feel is her eyes staring at me, piercing through my defences. I want to run, hide, escape her overwhelming and cold stare but I’m stuck in my seat. I quit the next day. Focus: After this disaster of a childcare traineeship, I wanted nothing more than too never work again, but I needed to earn money and save. I wanted to be normal. Everyone goes to work. I wanted to preserver, not let my racing thoughts, racing heart, tightly shut voice box, shaky hands and all my other anxious habits stop me from doing what everyone else can. So, I thought to try again somewhere else, I mean surely I wouldn’t get two evil bosses in a row? What: So, there I sat, sixteen years old and digging my nails into my palms so hard I thought they might start bleeding. Why is this happening to me? I’m surrounded by eyes here. My mum, my boss, two teachers and two trainers. Ten of these eyes start kind, simply discussing how I’ve been doing, everything seems fine. Then my new boss starts talking and I get sudden Déjà vu, except this time I have an audience. The warm atmosphere turns cold, and I feel the six pairs of eyes on me. My stomach sinks and I become hyper aware of everyone. They’re staring, piercing through me and I feel that familiar feeling of desperately holding back tears again. My throat closes and I feel like I can’t breathe. Every second I have to sit there I feel my brain self-destruct more and more. I want to defend myself. I want to say how well I’ve been doing. I want to say how hard I’ve been trying. I want to say how I’m always the one that has to clean the rooms, that everyone comes to me if they need someone to get something or do an annoying task, that I’m the newbie who everyone else uses. But I can’t, the fear of crying if I try to speak while in front of all these eyes stops me. Through my internal panic my eyes look up for a second, catching eyes with a little girl outside of the room. There is no coldness there. She grins widely at me, unaware to the pain I’m going through, her innocent eyes staring at me kindly instead of cruelly. For a moment I feel comfort. This is what work should make you feel. So what: It should make you feel happy and complete, not like you’re drowning. I realised in these moments that I could never imagine myself being genuinely happy working for someone else. With other people there will always be the unexpected, the miscommunication, the cold hard staring eyes. Why should I have to deal with that? Just because everyone else does? Just because everyone else can? So, I should pretend to not feel every nerve in my body on fire, hide my shaky hands and accept the judgment of staring eyes when I find myself too overwhelmed to speak? Why should I? Now what: Instead, I picture a future as my own boss, doing what I truly want to do. I walk around my own shop, admiring the endless shelves of fabric of my own design. The chime of a bell sends me to the front counter, passing by sweet old ladies looking at rolls of wool, young modern women studying fashion picking out fabrics and sophisticated looking interior designers looking for the perfect shades for their house plans. I greet the customer at the counter, and they are not angry when my hands shake, they do not complain when my voice is quiet. I look at their eyes and see no cruel stare, instead I am reminded more of the kindness of children’s eyes. Conclusion: So here I sit, writing this memoir. I’ve planned to do multiple textile courses and study business after school, all to help achieve my dream of opening my own fabric store. To be my own boss. I’ve accepted that It’s okay to not suit certain things in life. I’ve decided to never settle in life to live ‘normally’ if that makes me unhappy.