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Tears stung Julieta’s eyes as she trudged home. She hugged herself as sobs wracked her body and bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
‘Stop it!’ her mind screamed at herself. She didn’t deserve the luxury of crying like a baby. She needed to suck it up and work harder. After all, it was her fault she had run out of food so soon.
The boy with sprained ankle would easily make it until tomorrow but she couldn’t stop the almighty tidal wave of guilt that crashed over her at her own shortcoming. She was the oldest, the mature one, the healer. She was supposed to plan everything out perfectly and show that she had everything together at all times. It’s what people expected from her. It’s what she expected from herself.
And now here she was, running home and sobbing her eyes out and being a big fat disappointment all over. She berated herself in her mind.
“You’re not good enough.”
“Why were you given the gift of healing? You can’t even heal everyone with your gift because your so lazy.”
“You should’ve cooked more!”
“Idiota! You’re so slow! And you can’t even count right.”
“Ha! And people think you’re smart? You’re nothing but a useless fraud. You’re not special or perfect like everyone thinks. Don’t kid yourself.”
“Get it together! You’re just trying to get sympathy that you don’t deserve.”
She didn’t dare venture inside Casita until she could dry her eyes and steady her wild breathing. The house shuddered worriedly as she curled up on the shadowed side of the building out of sight.
None of her family needed to see her like this. She was scared to meet her mamá’s disappointment, or worse, her pity. Bruno and Pepa had enough to worry about on their own. Of course she would always be there to listen and carry their burdens for them, but listening just reminded her how inconsequential her own issues were.
She was fine! She could handle this! What issue could the little miss perfect healer possibly be facing? And even if she was struggling, no way in eternity would she ever dump all that onto her already burdened siblings.
A fresh wave of guilt and disgust for herself slapped her across the face as the harsh reminder that she had been behind in preparing the arepas and that the buñuelos had been slightly underdone, though no one particular noticed but her. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She should’ve done better.
She sat there curled up and wiping frustratedly at her tears for what seemed like forever but was really only a couple of minutes before she finally jerked herself up. She took a deep breath and held it, finding more reasons to scold herself. Her dress was now dirty and she was wasting time sitting here and stewing in her own self pity. She should be up and working to make things right. To get better, do better, be better.
It didn’t matter if people held themselves to different, more forgiving standards. That was good, fine, great for them. They deserved to be patient with themselves. But Julieta was a different case. She had always shown she was the reliable, responsible one. She had to hold herself to strict, high standards. She couldn’t falter. She had to be an example, a leader, a hard worker.
She released the breath she had been holding, finally somewhat composed. Her eyes and nose were now red, a telltale sign she had been crying. But if she kept her lip from trembling and eyes from watering and answered any questions with a level, cheery tone, she had a chance of not raising concern.
She just needed to keep her head down and work, giving everything she had and more to keep everyone around her satisfied. Then, if she performed flawlessly, maybe then she would afford herself a very small allowance of respite and pride for herself. Until then, she would critique and berate herself for every mishap and mistake because of her over abundant inadequacy.