Husband.

One day in my college French class, we were asked to write about how we pictured our lives in ten years. One of the things I wrote was that I hoped to have a husband or wife. I was just starting to come out as bisexual at that time, and I was really proud of myself for boldly including this detail. 

When I got the assignment back, the teacher crossed out "wife" and wrote that I only needed to write "husband." While I was confident writing "husband or wife" I still didn't feel comfortable confronting my teacher about this, and I let it affect my grade. 

This teacher would also go around the room asking girls to describe in French what qualities they liked in boys and vice versa, with the assumption that everyone was straight.

Although I believe that there was no ill will on the teacher's part, her oblivious heteronormativity contributed to my discomfort at a time when I was struggling to come to terms with my sexuality. Looking back, I wish I had said something at the time, and I hope she's more aware now. 

"There's a reason five guys are standing around you right now."

Towards the end of my junior year, I was wearing a skater skirt and tight crop top. Our school doesn't have AC and gets extremely hot near the end of the year, so I wore this a lot.

I was talking in art class with two of my girlfriends and three of our best guy friends. We were all chit chatting and laughing when the art teacher called me over to her desk and told me to think about what I wear next time, and that I was violating dress code because half an inch of my mid drift was showing and my skirt was too short. Even though the skirt was at finger tip length, which meets the school requirement on skirts. 

She proceeded to say in a sarcastic and degrading way, "There's a reason five guys are standing around you right now." Even though it was three guys and they in no way ever even flirted with me. I was about to explode, so I walked away from her desk and sat and talked to my friends about it. They all were shocked and outraged. The teacher overheard us and then proceeded to talk about it loudly to the whole classroom, degrading my outfit. 

My friend spoke up and said, "Stop sexualizing women's bodies." 

Then the teacher tried to give me detention and keep me after class for the commotion SHE caused.

I went home bawling for two hours because I felt so awful and embarrassed. She never apologized. And I forever am worried about seeing her in the halls with whatever I wear.

"No big deal."

I've been sexually assaulted multiple times in my life, but I've only come forward one time. The first time. When I was 13.

I was sexually assaulted at a party by a neighbor's friend. I was so afraid to tell anyone, and kept quiet for two months, until I finally wrote to a close friend about it. My friend accidentally dropped the note it in the hallway and it was discovered by the school social worker. 

The social worker called me into her office, confronted me, and called my mom. My mom told my dad, who told my stepmom.

My mother told me that she'd "been through worse" and that it was "no big deal" and that I "could've ruined his life." 

My stepmother told me "it's all right because we all think he's gay" and "he didn't mean anything by it." 

And what did my father say? Absolutely nothing. 

Because of this, I've stopped coming forward. 

I haven't been able to get my parents' words out of my head, and it's been almost a year and a half.

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.

"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.

"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.
 

"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.
 

"Despite your circumstances..."

I went into foster care when I was 16. I made the choice to do it, not wanting to go back to my abusive father after being taken from my drug addict mother. 

I had switched schools twice that year and got diagnosed with depression and bipolar. I felt depressed most days because of my parents, being at a new school, etc. 

But I had one amazing teacher who was always commending me on my schoolwork. I remember one thing in particular he said to me: "Despite the classes you're taking, and despite your circumstances, you're still managing to kick ASS in my class." 

That comment still makes me smile to this day. 

He ended up writing me a letter of recommendation for college and calling me over the summer to see how I was doing. This was back in 2010 and a thank you letter to him is long overdue. 

There were lots of horrible things that my parents said during my time in foster care which stuck with me too, but I wanted to share something that actually made me feel good about myself.

"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.