Have you ever felt embarrassed by the things that you used to like?

 Have you ever felt embarrassed by the things that you used to like? 

When I was in middle school, I really loved slime. It felt so satisfying to touch, and it helped me relieve a lot of stress, too. I first found out about slime in elementary school when my friend brought some to class. She taught me how to make it with our parents’ laundry detergent or our sisters’ contact lens solution. As I tried making my own slime, I became fascinated with the cool and refreshing sensory experience. And I had created it with my very own hands! In middle school, I started earning money through babysitting and pet-sitting jobs, which allowed me to buy more supplies. With these new resources, I discovered what a boundless creative outlet slime could be for me. The different colors, textures, and scents allowed me to create so many different kinds of slime. I made and played with slime nearly every day to the point that my hands would stain from the dye, and my fingers would get sore and pruny. It was honestly kind of addicting, and I started bringing it with me everywhere.

One day, I brought it to my tiny all-girls private school, which had the chillest teachers who didn’t mind me playing with slime during class. Naturally, I gained a bit of attention, especially given that my class had only about a dozen people. Everyone wondered what it was and would either ask to touch it or just impulsively feel it without permission. A part of me cringed each time a new person came in contact because I understood how slim the chances were that they had all recently washed their hands, and I felt like I could feel the oils and dirt transferring from their fingers onto my precious creation. But I worried about seeming snobby or possessive if I were overly protective of my silly blob called slime, so I didn’t say anything. The first touch usually caused a response of “oooh that feels nice,” or “wait it’s so soft,” ultimately leading to deeper poking, then squishing, then stretching a piece away from me, then stealing a portion, and then passing it around. But I would also get a few responses along the lines of “eww, what is that?”, or “that looks kinda weird…”And though probably 90% of the reactions were positive, the negative 10% felt really embarrassing and clung with me the most. I suddenly felt childish and weird for bringing slime to class. This wasn’t elementary school anymore; I was in middle school now. 

I will admit that I still really like slime, but I don’t play with it as much anymore. But I think it’s because I just don’t have as much free time, and not because I’m embarrassed. When I started high school, I tried bringing slime to school again. I ended up sharing with a lot of people, but in general, they were a lot more respectful. Then I taught a slime class and found a lot of new people who also enjoyed slime. People who genuinely loved the craft like me, which made me feel appreciated as a teacher of it, too. I realized that a lot of how I felt or judged myself was based on my surroundings. In middle school, a lot of my classmates spoke with zero filter. But because I honestly really cared about what people thought of me, it was so easy to overthink people’s comments and feel insecure. As I went to high school and experienced a lot of different reactions and support, I was grateful and happy. I felt more confident about liking my hobbies because other people liked them too. Which I realize, looking back, can be a harmful mindset. Slime didn’t change between middle school and high school, but my perception and confidence drastically did because of the people around me. And I think I should probably work on not caring so much what others think and just allow myself to enjoy whatever I want. It’s hard, but I think I am improving. I’ve noticed the more I let go, the freer I feel. I can flourish as the person I am and want to become. So I will keep trying until one day, someone could give me the stinkiest side eye for playing with slime, and I won’t even notice.

Hi, thank you for reading my blog! I am 68 words over the limit, and will really appreciate any suggestions for shortening it or any other aspect. I'm also wondering if my internal thoughts are expressed clearly enough, and if the ending makes sense. It makes sense to me because I lived through it, so I'm having trouble trying to read and interpret it from a completely unbiased outsider perspective.