Learn the Hard Way

Hard-earned lessons from a lifetime of feeling invincible

Anyone else learn everything the hard way? Story of my life.

I wasn’t a bad kid…just the kind who couldn’t resist crossing a red line to see what was on the other side.

I grew up fearless, certain I could outrun any consequence. Maybe that came from how often my parents cleaned up my messes - because it was easier on them. Or maybe I learned it watching my dad bend the rules and always get away with it.

My parents couldn’t have been more different. My mom grew up with very little, dreaming of a better life. So when she achieved it, she followed the rules, knowing how fast it could all disappear. My dad grew up wealthy, always got his way, and moved through life as if consequences were optional.

He’d double-park in Manhattan like he owned the street, flash a badge when pulled over, and somehow drive off without a ticket. In board meetings, he spoke with such conviction that no one noticed he’d only glanced at the material moments before walking in. To him, confidence was competence.

As a kid, it looked like the world adjusted to him, not the other way around. I thought that was heroic. I didn’t want my mom’s caution. I wanted my dad’s freedom. His charm. The kind that made people bend.

I faced my own share of adolescent adversity. Freshman year, older girls bullied me, branded me a slut for dating a senior. Criticized for clothes “too revealing.” Brand-new sunglasses knocked off my head, just because. Jealousy, maybe. It still hurt. My nose was “too big.” I fixed that. Mocked for loving rap music as a white girl. Still love it.

Factor in ADHD, and you’re automatically the problem child. Report cards screaming... “If Nicole paid attention, she’d have such potential.”

Well, maybe make your lectures more interesting, Ms. Lahaze…. The ADHD paradox: laser-focused on what I love, checked out when the Mayans built pyramids and the Aztecs sacrificed for the gods - no relevance to me.

I couldn’t sit still or focus like the other kids. Teachers singled me out and embarrassed me in ways that’d get them fired today. I get it, I made their lives harder, but there’s a right way to reach kids without making them feel stupid.

Innocuous risks gave me the dopamine hit I craved. Homework, studying, following the rules for a good report card? All dull by comparison. I lived for the last-minute scramble - the rush of procrastinating until game time.

I was a girl trying to figure out who I was and where I fit in - learning early what it meant to be judged and completely misunderstood. But I was too proud to let it show, so I got strong.

Maybe that’s where it began. The need to feel above the rules. My mouth became a weapon. Not because I thought I was better, but because I was tired of feeling small and misunderstood while the world decided who I was for me.

Power felt like protection. Control felt like safety.

High school became a series of limit tests - dress code violations, a sliver of midriff, a cheer skirt just short enough to make a point. When the school called, my mom defended me: “I just bought her that.” Phone confiscated? She marched in to retrieve it, unleashing her wrath over the inconvenience. Someone menaced me? She was ready to sue for emotional distress.

College was supposed to be San Francisco, until I decided, at the last minute, that I hated it. No other schools were still taking applications, so my dad called the University of Arizona: “Did you get my check? It hasn’t been cashed.” There was no check. They told him to resend it. I was admitted. Just like that.

Lesson learned: confidence, paired with entitlement, can open doors beyond merit.

Freshman year, I nearly flunked out. My parents drove up and met with a counselor, who suggested I declare a major in Human Development and Family Studies just to keep me enrolled. For the first time, something clicked, the ADHD paradox at work. Straight As followed.

Then came the 2009 DUI. I was 19, sentenced to thirty-six hours of substance abuse classes that sounded worse than jail. And yes… I went. Two days of force-fed peanut butter and honey sandwiches on Wonder Bread just to get marked as “eating.” The curriculum was outdated; everyone zoned out. So, in peak audacity, I offered to rewrite the program for credit. The instructor agreed.

That turned into an internship. Which turned into grad school. Which turned into my career.

Disasters didn’t teach caution; they taught me I’d always land on my feet.

Last year felt like a slow-motion train wreck… frozen as mistakes piled up. No one left to pick up the pieces or fight my battles but me. Rules hit harder when the stakes are real, and my mouth became my nemesis.

I’m 37. Rebuilding again. Feeling behind. Starting over more times than makes sense on paper. Paying the consequences for a girl I barely recognize.

Through all the shit, one thing saved me: tenacity. The drive to become someone I’m proud of. Proving the doubters wrong - the ones who said I’d never amount to anything? Just a perk… or, let’s be honest, a total fucking win.

I learned the hard way because consequences finally became real. Because I’d built a life worth protecting. Because the cost mattered. Because I wasn’t a kid anymore.

The world doesn’t bend for you just because it once did. I’m done outsmarting the system. Done mopping up my own messes.