“You are a cool breeze on a calm sea.”  He wrote that on the last page of a paper I’d written for the class he taught.  There was an “A” in red ink, which pleased me not half as much as being compared to a summer’s day.  I was fifteen, just coming into focus.  I reminded him of himself, he said, and when he asked me to meet him at the football field on a Saturday afternoon I didn’t hesitate.  He drove me to his apartment, told me to take my clothes off in a way that made me uncomfortable.  But I liked having a secret.  

Later, much later, he told me he had a boyfriend, someone he loved.  He’d die if anything ever happened to him, if he were to find out what we did on Saturday afternoons.  So it stopped as abruptly as a needle being lifted from a record.  

What stuck with me wasn’t the rape, as my therapist insisted I call it, it was the power of words to seduce, to shatter.        

When I was 13 I went to a summer camp and had to share a shower with other girls. 

While I was bathing a girl yelled out, “What’s wrong with your boobs?!” And all the girls stopped and looked. I couldn’t understand what she meant. They were mine they weren’t overly perky but I never thought of them as wrong.

Another girl asks “Did guys ya know, do stuff with them?” And the same girl replied, “Who would want to play with those?” I lowered my head in shame and confusion.

To this day I’m always self conscious the first time I reveal my body to any guy. Will he want to know what’s wrong them as well? 

When I was in college, my friend was struggling with coming out as bi. I wasn’t understanding the struggle, nor did I understand the coming out process. Our mutual friend accused me of not being supportive of our friend and told me I was insensitive, and that I’d never understand how difficult it was.

A few months later, I came out as gay, and the mutual friend’s voice played over and over in my head, telling me how difficult it was to come out. It made me feel like the sudden peace and understanding of who I was was somehow wrong. I felt like I was doing something wrong and I should have been struggling so much more. To this day, I still wonder if I should have struggled more.

I moved around a few times growing up. Right before I moved across the country the summer after 9th grade, a close friend filled my yearbook pages with lovely memories but most importantly a note that said, “No matter where our lives take us and even if we drift apart, we’ll always have these memories from this past year.” Her words stuck with me after that and helped me get through the tough times when friendships faded or when I needed a push to see the bright side of things.

This friend and I did drift apart when I moved, but nearly a decade later we found ourselves living in the same city and our friendship picked up right where it left off. 

I was in fourth grade, it was the first hot day of the year, and I was so excited to finally be able to wear my new tank top from Gap Kids.

When I got to school, the first person I saw was this girl who I had recently become good friends with. She was standing by the door with a group of people, and she said to me, loudly, “You should NOT be wearing that!” They all laughed. 

I was so shocked and caught off guard. I don’t even remember what I said in response. I think I laughed and kept walking.

To this day I’m not sure exactly why she thought I shouldn’t have been wearing that tank top. Maybe it was because I wasn’t wearing a bra, or maybe my arms looked weird or something. But it makes me really sad to think that I’m still trying to figure out what was objectively “wrong” with my nine-year-old body. 

This guy I knew through a group of friends said, “You are pretty…enough." 

Any time I’ve ever repeated that to someone they’ve rolled their eyes and said what a jerk he is. We usually just laugh it off. 

But every once in a while when I don’t feel that confident or attractive…I will think of that and it just echoes through my head. It bothers me that without prompt, he evaluated my looks and felt the need to tell me. It bothers me that every once in a while I believe it.

One day when I was about five my little sister had to be rushed to the hospital in New York. I was so scared and had no idea what was going on. I loved her so much and felt so protective but as a five year old there was nothing I could do.

A month or so ago, my son, who is now about the same age as my sister when she had to go to the hospital, was having trouble breathing. My wife and I packed him in the car and drove as fast as we could to the ER. It was the first time I felt protective and helpless in the same way since I was five. He spent 24 hours at the hospital with bronchiolitis, and made a full recovery just like my sister!

At my elementary school, we had a gifted program. Around 2nd or 3rd grade, a few of my teachers nominated me to be in the program, but in order to officially get in I needed to take an oral exam.

I remember trembling and wanting to throw up, I was so nervous for that exam. One of the questions was, “How many are in a baker’s dozen?” I remember my brain freezing mid-thought because I was so nervous. I was embarrassed, because I knew the answers, but they just didn’t come to me when I felt uncomfortable/nervous.

A few days later, I was asked to be tested again. This time was no different from the other. Still wanting to throw up, still so ashamed. I didn’t get in again.

I remember talking to someone about this later in middle school. How I was tested twice.

He commented, “Wow you were so stupid the first time, they needed to make sure you weren’t really that dumb.”

Needless to say, I have always felt that I wasn’t smart enough. He just reiterated the very thing that was reverberating in my brain.

And whenever I speak out loud for class or a speech,  I feel the nerves boiling over, affecting my ability to trace my train of thought. And I still struggle with these feelings of shame and embarrassment.

There’s a self realization that if I calmed down I could remember more easily and then there’s a mental self abuse when I can’t calm down.

I wish I could get rid of the negative reinforcement in my head.

“You would be cooler if you talked more.”

I heard this is a shy pre-teen with social anxiety. I still replay it in my head every time I am in a social situation with more than two people. Sometimes I remember this moment and I tell myself I am boring, awkward, and lack personality, even though I know none of those things are true. It has been eleven years since I heard those words.

This was not a comment that anyone made about me, but rather one I made about someone that still sticks with me today.

When I was in 5th grade, I was on a swim team with a number of my classmates. One of them was a girl I disliked, mainly because she was mean to me and teased me a lot. I recall watching a swimmer I thought was her, and saying something to the effect of “I can’t believe Leslie [not her name] can even fit in her bathing suit.” I don’t recall exactly what I said, but it was definitely fat-shaming and nasty. She was standing right behind me, clearly heard me, and I tried, very poorly, to act like I was talking about someone else, and then she walked away.

It didn’t seem to affect her in the long run, we were on the same singing groups, and while we were never friends, we were at least cordial. But I always felt guilty and awful for having said that about her, no matter how mean she was to me. I really hope she forgot all about it, but I wouldn’t blame her if she resented me for that comment. Sigh.