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.

"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.

"You probably ruined that girl's confidence..."

I was in university, learning to be a primary school teacher. For one of my school experience sessions, I had to show the class on the overhead projector how to edit their stories for spelling errors. I asked the teacher if I should prepare an example story that wasn't based on an actual student's work, but she said it wouldn't be necessary, that there was a child in class who would be fine with me using her work as an example, and that the teacher had done this before. 

I was being assessed on this lesson by my university contact, so I wanted this to go well.

When I pointed out the first spelling mistake, the child burst into tears. I quickly tried to create my own spelling mistake on the chalkboard and use it as an example instead, but I was shaken. I didn't want to draw attention to the child crying, but I didn't want her to be upset either.

I set the class a quick task to find a spelling mistake in their work, putting them in pairs to work together, while I approached the child in question. My assessor was comforting her, and told me to continue the class.

When the class ended, my assessor approached me and said, "You probably ruined that girl's confidence in her own writing for life."

She was ten. I wish I could apologize.
 

The first time I felt like I wasn't good enough.

When I was five years old, I was sitting in my kindergarten classroom with a group of friends during coloring time. I remember we were discussing things like boyfriends, girlfriends and marriage - you know, the usual. 

I must have made a comment in regards to myself growing up and getting married, since I assumed everyone got married when they reached a certain age. The little boy sitting next to me stopped dead in his tracks, looked me in the eyes and said, “But nobody will ever want to marry you because...you’re black.”

I went home that night and must have been pretty upset because the next day my mom met with my teacher and the parent of the little boy who had made the comment. 

He was made to apologize and of course life carried on. And even though now, 20 years later, I know people have said many things a thousand times more hurtful to me, that particular moment has always stuck with me.
 

"Would you rather date her or me?"

When I was in elementary school, my best friend moved away. Four years later, in fourth grade, she finally moved back. I was overjoyed!

But our friendship wasn't the same as it used to be.  She would always tell me she was prettier, better than me, etc. 

One day at lunch, she went up to every boy in the cafeteria, pointed at me, and said things like, "Would you date her?" and, "Would you rather date her or me?" Every single guy said they would rather date her. 

I was only in fourth grade, and my best friend had just become my very first bully. 

"That's not how repeat is spelled."

When I was in 5th grade, I was a spelling champ. I always received 100s on every test, and I studied really hard. One Friday, we had a test, and there was a bonus question that asked, "What is your pet's name?"

Before we adopted our dog his name was Pete, but since my brother's name is Pete, we named the dog Repete. So I wrote "Repete" on my test, and the next Monday I received my test back, with a big red "X" over my bonus question answer. I waited patiently until recess to confront my teacher about it. I have always been very soft spoken and shy, and it took a lot for me to confront my teacher. I explained that this is how my family spelled my dog's name, and I gave her the backstory. 

She looked at me, frowned and said "Well, that's not how repeat is spelled." I dug in my heel and fought, albeit quietly, with her for a couple minutes. She eventually said that because it was spelled incorrectly, I would definitely not be getting credit for that point. I was heartbroken and upset.

Obviously, this is such a small insignificant speck on the atrocities scale, but picture this: a small, very shy child gets up the nerve to confront someone about an injustice, and gets shot down. The teacher must have known how wrong this was, but she used her position of power to make it clear to a 10 year old that people in positions of authority are always right, and the little guy can never succeed when they stick up for themselves.

It was one of the last times I stood up and defended myself in a time of injustice until college, and even then, I was wary. I didn't think I had the power to change any injustices, or speak up for myself when I was clearly right. I think it all goes back to this one instance, which my fifth grade teacher probably doesn't even remember.
 

"Who do you chill with?"

In third grade, I started sitting with a group of girls at lunch. I didn't really talk to them, but they seemed really nice, and for some reason I felt very safe in their company. 

One day one of the girls turned to me with a smile. I was excited to start to get to know her, but then she asked me, albeit in a harmless tone, "Who do you chill with?"

She was basically asking who my actual friends were, implying it was clearly very random to her that I had chosen to sit there. 

What I wanted to say was, "You guys!" But instead I scrambled and said something like, "Oh, people at a different lunch period." 

This was the first time I realized my role in the world as an observer, a fly on the wall, who is extremely stimulated by her surroundings, but whose impact on said surroundings is less profound. 

"It's okay; I'm fat too!"

When I was 9, I was a little more developed than everyone else. One day in class, I walked past a table of kids and I heard one boy say, "Oh, she's so fat!" 

I confronted them, and soon the teacher came by to see what was going on. At first the kids denied having said anything, but eventually the boy confessed, saying, "It's okay; I'm fat too!" 

As if that made it okay. 

A year later, I changed schools and met my two best friends. I'm fifteen now, and we're still best friends. They don't care how I look, and because of their love and support, neither do I. 

"I wish you were a boy."

"I wish you were a boy."

This was just one of the many horrible things that my father said to 10 year old me, because I was too much like my mom.

Stomach Ache

When I was in 3rd grade, I walked in on my mom purging, and she told me, "I have a stomach ache, and I have to get everything out to feel better." 

From that moment on, I started purging whenever I had a stomach ache. For years. 

It took me until I was 25 and finally on the proper medication to realize that I've had an eating disorder my whole life, and it all started when my mother told me a story instead of telling me the truth about her problem.