I remember the first time I hit a wall.

I was in third grade, and I had to write a report on a famous person’s life. I chose Albert Einstein. (That choice says a lot about what I thought of myself.) I remember being in my bedroom with a children’s biography of Einstein, and I remember having to write the report and not knowing where to start because the project seemed so big — too big. I’d never had to do an assignment like this before. It intimidated me. I was scared — I didn’t think I could do it, and I was probably afraid of exerting myself, and it just seemed like a no-win situation. I just did not want to do it. But I had to do it. But I couldn’t do it. I remember throwing the book across my bedroom in tears, not knowing how I was going to get through this, and I remember my mom getting mad at me, or at least expressing her own frustration, which made it worse.

Up until then, I’d been an academic superstar. Schoolwork had always been easy for me. But that had always been quick stuff. I could do pages and pages of arithmetic problems, I could alphabetize lists of words, I was an excellent speller, I could recite the months of the year backwards. And I could do it fast. Speed equalled excellence. I could do these things in a rush of adrenaline, get them over with, be number one, feel powerful and superior and loved.

And then the Albert Einstein book report happened, and for the first time, I hit a wall.

It scared me.

I can’t remember the outcome, but I assume I wrote the report. And then I continued on with my academic life. I continued to excel at math, at spelling, at diagramming sentences, at writing computer programs in BASIC, and so on. But when it came to long-term projects, multi-step projects, assignments I couldn’t just do in a flash and turn in — I never really had the discipline to do the best job I could on them.

I sit here in my office today, and projects pile up on my desk. Often I lose track of what I’m supposed to do. And sometimes I know what I’m supposed to do, but part of me resists, doesn’t want to do it, and before I know it I’m doing something more fulfilling, like writing this blog post. There’s only so much you can avoid something before it comes crashing down and someone realizes you’ve screwed up. At some point I realize, shit, I can’t avoid doing this any longer. But that usually doesn’t happen until it’s too late.

My resistance is so ingrained, my fear and dislike of this work is so powerful, my power of denial is so strong — that I still avoid the work and I screw up. And I want to kick myself for it.

But it’s not a book report anymore. The consequences are higher. It’s real life. It’s a job. It’s my paycheck.

It makes me want to throw up.

That Albert Einstein book report was the first thing in my life that ever seemed like work. It made me feel flawed, scared, and guilty. It’s a feeling that’s returned over the years — particularly in law school and in most jobs I’ve had.

And it’s how I’m feeling about my current job as I write these words.

I’ve hit a wall.