It was about a few weeks to my 18th birthday, which meant I would be recognized as an “adult” thereafter. As an adult, I would be held accountable for my actions and how they affect the world around me and in turn, how my surroundings affect me. I was to become my own self-advocate; making choices based on my preferences, beliefs, and abilities—choices that will allow me to succeed in the world. It was happening all too soon!

As an eight-year-old, I recalled how I fantasized about becoming an adult; living this perfect, flawless life. I wished to do everything on my own; without asking for anyone’s permission. My eight-year-old self thought that it would be great to make solo decisions without consulting anyone else. But now, when I am almost an adult, I find myself engulfed by waves of nostalgia and I yearn to the days of being a carefree child. I longed to play in the sand and squelch around in muddy puddles. I feel like I want to go back in time and be the same eight-year-old boy to live as a child forever like my favourite cartoon character Peter Pan.

“Why do I feel this way?”

“What is this fear crippling me?”

“Are there people out there who feel this way too?”

I am almost certain there are teens my age and young adults who are having difficulties transitioning into adulthood. Just like me they are also carrying negative childhood baggage with them. My mind is reeling; it is grappling with questions. As I sought to find answers for them, I have discovered many facts which may help you to find yourself out, in case you are lost.

I think the mental notion supported by an unwillingness to enter adulthood is deeply rooted in genuine fear, and exacerbated by trauma. It is almost impossible to shield children from the dangerous reality of the world. No matter how much adults try, reality sets in. A lot of emotionally painful or distressful events occur during childhood that often results in lasting mental and physical effects.

Every infant is born with a delicate brain ready to adapt to its environment; like sponges, they absolve whatever energy and develop coping mechanisms. Either in a loving and safe world or a harsh survival dog-eat-dog scenario. If the first feels wonderful, the brain develops into a fully functional prefrontal cortex. But if the latter feels terrible, the brain development becomes more primitive, more emotionally cold and indifferent. A traumatic childhood is not simply an "enthralling story" like the one I’m about to tell, but it is a biological time-bomb, societal torture of children, a waste of talent, and a long-term health hazard.

For so many years of my childhood I had no bladder control and not a single person thought to give me the benefit of the doubt. Each time I wet my bed, I was beaten with a slipper, and no, over clothes wasn't nearly punishment enough. At age nine I was still wearing diapers to bed at night when my little brother was five and didn't have to! With that came the mocking, the looks and judgement... as if I did it on purpose.

In middle school, I wanted to go to sleepovers, but I was always nervous or scared to let my secret out. It made me feel odd and pathetic, most kids my age would have out-grown bedwetting so my peers may not understand it. Last time a friend found out, he told the whole school because a girl we were both crushing on picked me over him as her science project partner. I was totally ostracized like I was some kind of plague. It was so bad that I had to change school.

In my new school, I missed out on school excursions and never attended any summer camps. I was an easy target for bullies because I was withdrawn and didn’t want to make any friends. I hated how people thought I was a freak but it was the price I had to pay for my secret to remain hidden.

I remember returning particularly exhausted from my school’s field day. If you're not familiar, field days usually involved assigning students to various colour-themed teams, such as team red or team blue. They're then required to participate in a day of activities, including egg-and-spoon races, throwing and catching balls, three-legged races, 100-yard dashes, wheelbarrow races, sack races, backward races, and tug-of-war. While it's meant to be fun and encourage teamwork, for awkward kids like me, who had few friends and had pretty slow reflexes, it was a day of misery.

Being mandated to take part in these kinds of activities made it impossible to hide my inadequacy, at a time when I just wanted to fade into the background like I never existed. As a preteen, I was a typical case of a “floppy child” and my not being able to catch a ball was one of many things my parents could not figure out. My younger brother was able to throw and catch just fine and was even the goal keeper of the school football team.

I showed no interest in sports. My dad thought it was because I hated tying laces, and most sporting shoes required a lot of lace tying. I found lacing so difficult; I was constantly told off about untidied laces and always preferred slip-on shoes to lace-up-trainers.

I had a general level of clumsiness and lacked any semblance of hand-eye coordination, and it showed up in many things outside the area of sports, so being paired with a popular girl and forced to play catch was a really terrible idea. It wasn’t long before I threw the ball right into her face and her glasses cracked. I was terrified by her bleeding nose and her wails and screams.

On top of the embarrassment, failing meant you were letting your team down, which was a lot of pressure for me back then as a kid. I avoided making eye contact with my classmates for the rest of the day, so I didn't have to see their stares and dirty looks.

I recall being very thirsty and in a bad mood. My mum thought it was right to take me to the hospital since she complained I looked pale. I felt it was because I had a really bad day and tried to dissuade her from taking me but she insisted. The doctor had initially thought of gastroenteritis. After a second visit and various blood and urine tests, the diagnosis was clear: it was Type-1 diabetes. So, I had been diabetic all along which explained my bedwetting issues. My parents were devastated and couldn’t believe they had been blaming me while I was dealing with an underlying medical condition. I could recall everything been blur at the hospital, and at first, it all felt very overwhelming. Which was worse; being a bed wetter or a sickly teen? I was in total shock.

I spent 10 days in the same hospital with my parents learning about the illness, its treatment, and how to cope with it. I was learning about blood testing, carbohydrate counting, and doing math calculations. My latest reality meant that I must perform four daily blood pricks and two injections, jotting down my blood glucose readings in a notepad and carrying first aid supplies, injection materials, sugar, and glucagon. My sugar levels must be constantly monitored. When I don't have enough sugar, I would be overly tired and tremble; my fingers would shake involuntarily like I was rolling a pill between my thumb and index finger. When I have too much, I would become irritable and thirsty.

For a young boy like me, coming to terms with diabetes had been difficult. It was the psychological aspect of the disease that had the greater impact on me than the physical consequences of having the disease. Sometimes, I often think it’s unfair that I have diabetes because I didn’t do anything to deserve it. It has been a little over five years since my diagnosis. I have learnt to embrace my life for what it is; accepting and adjusting to my diagnosis. I no longer feel scared to open up about my condition to people; I changed my attitude about it. I resolved that being open about my diagnosis could help to educate people and inspire other children who were recently diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

In school, I often show my pump and glucose monitor to my friends and I’m happy to explain its purpose. If anyone accidentally pulled out my pump site or monitor during sport, I assured them that it’s okay because it really was. My day-to-day life was different than the lives of many others, but I’ve chosen to embrace my differences. Type 1 diabetes is NOT a setback. Dealing with my illness has made me realize that everyone is dealing with something; we must choose to be winners not whiners and victors and not the victims.

My daily regimen entailed many finger pricks, insulin shots, and carb counting. I’m constantly looking at food as just a number. There are often many ups and downs in a single day including being frustrated or irritated due to high blood sugar levels or even dazed and confused from low levels. These emotional swings can take a toll, especially now that I am becoming an adult.

When it comes to us teenagers who are transitioning into adulthood, our views are way more different. During this coming of age period, we face a massive change of thoughts and feelings as we welcome the more mature version of ourselves. Day by day, we grow up to see our world in its truest form, not our childhood perceptions. Now we understand how this society operates, the challenges it brings and the role and responsibilities that go with the freedom to come.

Bearing all these in mind, I think it is reasonable to feel a bit confused about turning into an adult. Absolutely, being an adult means you would be responsible for paying your bills, food, clothes and every other thing that needs paying for. You may never enjoy the privileges of childhood and the many sacrifices your parents made to give you the life you deserved. There are a whole lot of responsibilities that come with the freedom of adult choices and it is frightening to know that mistakes can have large consequences at this stage of life. The society will expect many things from you such as finishing your education, getting a job, leaving your parents’ home, getting married, and having children.

Nonetheless, you are not obligated to fulfill the society’s expectations. Becoming an adult can seem a daunting evolution. Adulthood is a journey of self-discovery. It is about living the life of your imagination; that glamorous life you have always dreamt of. When you are fully integrated with your real self – only then will you realise you are capable of being both an adult and a child simultaneously. Reliving that open and guileless feeling of excitement, free-roaming imagination, and unprompted gratitude and fully embracing the possibilities and the wonders of our magnificent universe. You mustn’t let the chance of viewing things through your rose-coloured glasses pass you by. Become the person which your childhood self would be greatly proud of.

You shouldn’t be jarred by the thoughts of becoming an adult. It can be a thrilling adventure but it is totally up to you to decide whether or not you would lose your pure-hearted child-like qualities. Adulthood is but a path to make your childhood dreams come true. So, go for it!