"I picked him but I didn't pick you."

My mother's husband always disliked me and frequently physically and verbally abused me. It got worse when I started fighting back, at around 9 or 10. One day we got into a vicious argument, and he locked me out of the house. 

My mom eventually came home and asked why I was crying on the porch, and I told her what had happened. She told me that I was instigating trouble with him.

I asked why she always sided with him, and her response was, "I will always side with him. I picked him but I didn't pick you."

I've never forgotten that. 

Every time I see her, that's what I think of. I'll never forget that she didn't "pick" me. 

Ever since then, I've never picked her either. And I never will.

"You will never be able to make good decisions on your own."

When I was younger, my dad used to always ask me, "Why do you always make bad choices?" As I got older, it turned into, "You will never be able to make good decisions on your own." 

In early adulthood, he stopped saying anything when I made mistakes. He would just give me a look and walk away. 

Now as an adult with two children of my own whose father walked away, my dad tells me quite often how proud he is of me. He frequently reminds me that I'm doing a wonderful job with the boys, and he has a fantastic relationship with them both. 

But as close as my dad and I are now, I can still hear him tell me how I'll never do anything good, or that I can't make decisions for myself. 

Every decision I make, big or small, feels like life or death to me. I'm constantly calling and asking my dad what I should do, and he'll talk with me until I decide. He's a phenomenal father and grandfather, but I wish had been more understanding and less judgmental when I was growing up. 
 

"Your shoes are very pink."

Growing up, my family didn't have much money. My parents always tried the best they could to provide for me.

In 8th grade, my mom treated me to a new pair of pink lace-up work-style boots from Kmart. I was so excited about them and confident that I could rock them, until I wore them to school.

After a day of awkward stares, I was walking to the bus stop when one of the popular kids told me, "Your shoes are very pink." 

I excitedly replied, "Thank you!" and I was feeling suddenly confident again. 

He chimed backed in as I was walking away, "I never said I liked them." And I was immediately shot down.

I went home and cried that night, and never wore the shoes again. The shoes my mother worked so hard to buy. 

It's funny how words can hurt a child so deeply.
 

"She sounds dumb anyway."

I moved to the USA from Costa Rica when I was 10 years old. English was not my first language, but I was doing pretty well. 

In 8th grade when I was 14, my school went on a trip to saint Augustine, FL. Everyone decided to get henna tattoos, but I didn't have enough money for one.

When one of the chaperones asked why I wasn't getting one, I said, "I just don't want a TA TU." (I mispronounced it because of my accent.) She laughed and told me to just call it a tat. I tried to say it that way, and then I told her that I thought that made me sound dumb. 

As I walked away she turned to her son and said, "She sounds dumb anyway." They started laughing. 

I turned around and told them that they weren't being nice, but they didn't care. They just kept laughing at the 14 year old girl who had an accent.
 

"You're the winning team."

I could never commit to school. I've always been very anxious and weird, and of course that's blood in the water for the horrific nightmare sharks that are children. 

The one thing I actually liked doing was writing, because I could express myself without feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious. 

A teacher that I genuinely liked and respected, who I think came to know me exclusively through the essays I turned in, once told me, "You're the winning team. People root for you." 

I don't necessarily think there's anyone screaming my name from the bleachers, but for one meaningful second, I felt like maybe things would be okay.
 

"What kind of a retarded freak are you?"

My birthday is in September, so I was just 11 years old when I started 7th grade. My Spanish teacher was going over the lesson, and I kept mispronouncing several words. She finally exploded at me in front of the class and said, "What kind of a retarded freak are you?" 

I turned bright red while more than 60 eyes zeroed in on my agony. 

Later that day, I went home and just cried. Cried and cried. My parents were the type that felt the teacher could do no wrong. It was the first time in my life someone other than family had made me feel so worthless and useless. 

Somehow, I made it through 7th grade and the Spanish language well enough to become fluent in it. 

Years later, I became a New York City teacher. I spent about 30% of my time as a teacher speaking Spanish with students, most of whom were from Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. 

In my last year teaching before I retired, a student asked me why I became a teacher. It was at that very moment I actually realized why. 

I never wanted another child to be publicly humiliated by a teacher like I was by my 7th grade Spanish teacher.
 

"You're so ugly."

When I was in high school, there was a girl who would whisper in my ear every time I walked by her. 

Every day, multiple times a day, she'd come up to me and whisper, "You're so ugly."
 

Connect the Dots

In second grade, there was one kid who always picked on me. He called me lots of names and said lots of mean things to me all year, but the one thing that stuck with me the most was when he said, "Let's play connect the dots, and you're it!"

Kids can be so cruel. I couldn't help that I had freckles!

I'm 31 years old now, and I love all of me. I try not to let anyone's opinion bother me, but I still remember the way that kid made me feel all those years ago. 

Sophomore Star

I have always loved performing, so I was thrilled when I was cast in a leading role in my high school's musical as a sophomore. 

After an awesome opening night, a boy who had graduated the year before (and who had been the lead in previous musicals) approached me backstage. 

He said, "I was so impressed with your performance! I'm awarding you the Sophomore Star!"  

He said that it was a secret, word-of-mouth honor given by the musical theater alumni to the underclassmen they knew would go on to do great things. He had received the award as a sophomore, and so it was his prerogative to pass it on when and to whom he saw fit. 

I think even at the time I knew that he was making this up, but I didn't care. It was so kind of him to find such a special way to make me feel important.

Even now, as an adult, when I am nervous before a presentation at work, I remind myself that I am the Sophomore Star, and that I will do great things.

"You'll end up barefoot and pregnant in a trailer park."

Growing up with four siblings was hard enough without throwing a drug addicted father into the mix. I always took the blame for my brothers and sisters, so that they wouldn't get hit. 

As a result, my dad would say things to me like, "You're not good enough," "You're stupid," and "You'll end up barefoot and pregnant in a trailer park." 

I am now 27 years old and have four beautiful girls. I wouldn't change how I grew up because it made me who I am today. 

But you better believe I won't allow anyone to treat me that way, ever again.