# The pressure of being "smart" I was told from a young age that I was "smart" so that's how I identified. I was the smart one. However, toward the end of my elementary years, I began to stress out about school. I don't know why. I was doing fine. Although, now that I think about it, there was the sheer, unadulterated panic and anxiety that came with times tables. Seriously, it's **torture** to make kids with autism (although no one knew I was autistic at the time) do multiplication on a timed basis. To add to that, our classes had this stupid little "race track" board where if you solved enough multiplication problems in the allotted time, your car got to move closer to the finish line and those who reached the end would get a prize. My car never got to the end. Was it because I couldn't do multiplication? No. It was because I couldn't do multiplication *fast enough.* As my car seemed to be at a virtual stand still somewhere in the last 3 or 5 positions, my anxiety got worse and worse. I was always told how smart I was and I always got pretty good grades, so the fact that I could visually that I was almost last in the "race" made me question that. So, at night, I'd lay in bed and rub this worry stone I got from a local tourist shop. I kept it in my pillow case for easy access. Eventually, it got so thin, I thought it would break, so I stopped rubbing it and put it in my jewelry box. The anxiety stuck around, of course.