My dear readers, this isn’t one of those motivational letters meant to have you climbing walls, conquering the world, or moving to Silicon Valley to take on that startup you’ve been babbling about. Instead, this piece has the motive to comfort you. It’s meant to have the same effect as one of mom’s hugs after you’ve cried your eyes dry, or a glass of red wine after a long, achingly hard day. And maybe, it’ll even have an impact on the way you treat yourself.

Because the reality is we’re the ones who judge ourselves the harshest. We know all our flaws, our ticks, and our least desirable qualities. Yet instead of accepting and improving these ghastly features, we pick on them and make them bigger, and bigger, and bigger. We enhance these issues of ours in the same way a snowball would engross itself while tumbling down a mountain during an avalanche.

I write this because I’m tired. I’m tired of overthinking my mistakes, and so should you. An example? I’ve got millions, yet the one that inspired me to write this article happened quite recently.

Two days ago at work, I was doing such a shitty job at my internship that my boss wouldn’t even let me send an email without her looking over it. Worst part is, once she did get a peek, she had to rewrite it. You could tell that by the time I announced I was leaving and done with all my tasks, she was relieved. Because my leaving meant her babysitting shift was over.

The humiliation consumed me for days prior. I dreaded having to walk back into that office. An email? I’m a writer for christ's sake, how hard could it be? My ego was destroyed, let alone my dignity and hopes of an exceptional recommendation letter.

Yet after dull and dreadful hours of contemplation, I had an epiphany. An epiphany so comforting, I found myself writing this piece and wanting to share it with anyone who took pleasure in reading my articles. Here’s the secret: failing and getting our egos hurt is part of the growing process, it’s not meant to be an auto-destruction formula.

I willed up the courage to walk back through that office’s threshold with one thought in mind: I’m (unfortunately) human. And so is everyone sitting around that operation-room-type table with those plush white chairs. These people were also in my position at one point in their lives. They, too, have typed in the wrong date at least once or misspelled an official’s name, or even switched up the guest lists for competing events.

My error, just like all those you have wound up in your head, was minor and, most of all, forgivable. Why? Because I’m not a professional. Because I’m an intern who’s there to learn. Yet most importantly? Because we’re all fucking human.