Trying to "help".

Growing up, I was always a bit heavier than my peers. I never really noticed, though, and never let it get in the way of having fun. 

The first time someone pointed it out was humiliating. It was in second grade gym class. 

The coach allowed certain people to slack off in class, while remaining very strict with a select few. I was in the second group. The coach always told me to work harder and do better, and I never understood why.

When I finally asked, the coach admitted that he was trying to "help" me by making me do more so that I could lose weight. 

Needless to say, it hurt.

"Well, you haven't done any of that yet."

When I was in college, I struggled with serious depression. I would get overwhelmed easily and I ended up missing a lot of class. 

I was always upfront with my professors about this at the beginning of the semester, giving them a heads up about my situation before anything happened. 

I was enrolled in a class with a professor who was very esteemed and beloved by all students and fellow professors in the department, and on the first day, I explained my situation.

His reply was, "Well, you haven't done any of that yet."

Later in the semester, I missed a very important part of his class, one that others relied on me to be there for. He called me into his office, told me that I had disappointed everyone in my class, and that I would not be welcome to attend the rest of his class for the semester. He told me that I owed it to my peers to stand up in front of them and apologize, which I did. It was the worst experience of my life, considering the state I was in.

The next year, he retired. The school put on a ceremony in his honor. I had made great progress since then, and so I attended, and I realized something. I recognize that he has made so many positive contributions to the lives of so many students for decades. I recognize his accomplishments as an educator. That doesn't mean that he is without fault, and that doesn't mean he was right. I respect his reputation, but his dismissive response to my trying to warn him about a personal issue is what stuck with me.

"Ugh, too much makeup!"

When I was 16, I started experimenting with makeup. There was some family party I had to go to, and I spent a lot of time getting myself all dolled up for it. When I came downstairs to leave, my twin brother looked at me, made a disgusted face, and said, "Ugh, too much makeup!" Like I was personally offending him and hurting his eyes. 

I still went to the party looking as I did, but I felt really self conscious the whole time. 

And now, more than 20 years later, the entitlement and disgust he expressed in his reaction to my face still sticks with me.

"You lead older men on."

When I was 15, I was stalked, molested, and sexually assaulted by a 46 year old man who my parents were good friends with.

I tried to keep everything hush hush because it was humiliating, but my parents found out and confronted me about it. My father was sobbing and trying to understand what happened. My mother was furious and drilled me with questions. 

The whole scene ended with my dad and me sobbing together while my mom yelled, "I never thought my 15 year old daughter would be a whore. You lead older men on. On purpose!" 

To this day, I struggle to have a relationship with her. It is swept under the rug. We don't speak of it. 

I will always feel betrayed.

"You are not smart or pretty enough."

Growing up, my teachers were the root of my low self-esteem. I was dyslexic, and they would actually make fun of me in front of other students. 

I wanted to try out for a public speaking organization, but as soon as I stood up, one of my teachers told me, "You are not smart or pretty enough to compete in public speaking. You need to go back to your seat and sit quietly while the students who actually have a shot at winning try out. Try losing 10 pounds, learn how to do your makeup and get rid of that lisp then we can talk." 

Everyone laughed including the 2 other teachers in the room, while I was forced to sit in the back of class and wait until tryouts were over. 

When my mom asked how it went, I lied and told here it went well and that I might actually make it. I didn't want her to be sad. I was 11 years old.

 

"Very few people impress me..."

During my first busy night as a server, my cook told me that he didn't think I could handle the bad section, much less the good. I calmly tried to assure him that I'm great at my job, and that if he didn't agree then he should send me home.

This convinced him to give me the busy section, and I quickly got slammed. I was working really hard and handling it well, but as a server people seldom notice the extra effort you put in. I was doubting myself, I was nervous, and I was starting to worry that the cook was right, that I couldn't handle it. 

Then a very beautiful woman who I had been serving handed me $10 and a note that read, "Very few people impress me, but you've done just that. Thank you for your AMAZING service." 

I lost the note in the chaos before I got to take a picture of it, but I want her to know how much that meant to me. I would love to find her. She gave me confidence to do my job and the realization that I really can do anything I put my mind to, even if it's serving 12 tables at once all across the restaurant. That woman made my night and possibly my career. 

Thank you, kind stranger. Your words are forever in my mind and heart. You've made a young lady feel very happy, warm, and above all, appreciated and confident. So thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

Much love, 

Your Waffle House server.

"Your case isn't even that bad."

When I was about 14, my mom made me see a therapist, even though I never told her that I was depressed and haven't told her to this day. 

Based on the way my mom and step dad treated me, I learned from a young age not to trust adults. So I only gave the therapist limited information.

One day the therapist said to me, "Don't worry, your case isn't even that bad. I've seen so many kids who have way worse cases." 

In reality, I had a verbally and emotionally abusive home. I had depression from the huge expectations my parents had for no one but me, and I have a crippling fear of failure from the punishment I got for my best simply not being good enough. 

But yeah, my case "isn't even that bad." You're right. What was I thinking?

"He's such a nice boy."

When I told my favorite teacher that another student in our class had raped me, her response was, and I quote, "Oh, Jason*? That doesn't seem like something he would do. He's such a nice boy." 

*Names have been changed.