What Happens When Responsibility Isn’t Withheld

Image by Vey Damneun from Pixabay

I grew up working in my dad’s office. It was normal to me — phones ringing, paperwork stacked, adults solving real problems in real time.

But when I turned fifteen, I wanted something different. I wanted a job that wasn’t tied to our last name.

So I applied for a worker’s permit. Filled out applications. And somehow landed an interview at a doctor’s office.

I still remember sitting there — fifteen years old — in a chair that felt too big, on the other side of a massive desk. The doctor sat across from me, degrees lining the wall behind him, and I was trying to explain why I should be trusted with real responsibility… as a minor.

I was still learning the language of confidence. I wanted to be taken seriously.

I got the job.

I pulled charts. Recorded lab results onto flow sheets. Cleaned rooms. Helped at the front desk when things got busy.

I treated that practice like it was my dad’s — like it mattered. I challenged myself to move faster, to learn more, to be useful in ways that weren’t written in a job description.

And then something happened that still makes me smile when I think about it.

The minimum wage law changed.

Which meant I had to walk back into my boss’s office — the same office with the big desk and the degrees on the wall — and explain that, legally, I needed a raise.

I was terrified.

I remember thinking, How do I tell someone with multiple degrees that they need to pay me more? And also quietly wondering how they didn’t already know it was the law.

But I did it anyway.

That moment taught me something I didn’t fully understand until much later: responsibility builds confidence faster than reassurance ever could.

My parents had a rule when it came to work: I was a student first.

If my grades slipped, the job had to go. I had my whole life to make money — my job as a teenager was to learn. They encouraged me to work, but they were also careful. Guarded. They wanted me to understand that I didn’t need to work to survive. They would support me. Education came first. Looking back, I see the balance they struck so clearly. They didn’t shield me from responsibility — but they also didn’t make it feel like pressure. They let me step into real work, while still holding the safety net.

That combination — trust, transparency, and expectation — stayed with me.

It shaped how I show up. How I lead. And how I think about who gets invited into meaningful work — and when.

What I learned early was this: I didn’t wait until I felt confident. I did the thing — and confidence followed.

If you’re waiting to feel ready, consider this your nudge. Fill out the form. Raise your hand. Say yes to the small, real thing in front of you. Confidence doesn’t arrive first — it grows through repetition.