My mother and I were sitting on the porch and after bickering all day. I was laughing with some of her friends who had come over.
She looked straight at me and said, "I wish I had been more open to the option of abortion 15 years ago."
It was my 15th birthday.
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.
"He wouldn't have watched us undress if you'd just changed under your clothes like I did!"
- My friend, 10 years old, speaking to me, also 10.
For as long as I can remember, I've always eaten like a horse, yet I never gain weight.
One day in high school, someone asked me, "Are you sure you're not anorexic?"
This comment took me by surprise, and ever since then I've always thought of myself as "anorexically skinny," even though I know that I am not anorexic and never have been.
I was a sprinter on the track and field team all throughout high school. I was in the best shape of my life, but sometimes I felt self conscious about my legs because they were thicker than the other girls' legs (this was a Catholic school, so having sexy little legs with your rolled up skirt was all the rage).
Usually when I had these thoughts about my legs, I would quickly brush them aside, assuring myself that I was being ridiculous and that my legs looked good.
But one day in sophomore religion class, I sat down next to the "cool/hot" guy, and he said to me, "You're beautiful, but if your knees were just a little bit smaller, you'd be perfect."
I immediately told him off after he said that, but six years have gone by and his voice is still in the back of my head every time I go to try on skirts or dresses.
After years of abuse, a group home, and an abusive foster mother, my life finally settled down. I went to therapy, got diagnosed with depression and PTSD, and received the help I needed. I became happier, more confident, more in control of my life than I have ever been. I felt like for the first time, my life was going in the right direction.
One day I was talking to my adoptive mother about how my little brother might be too young for therapy because he wasn't talking much in his sessions. The she told me what his therapist said to her:
"At least one of them will turn out normal."
I had always felt judged for what my birth parents did, but hearing that a professional believed that I would forever be tainted because of my past sticks with me.
I may have issues, but I am not broken. I am not destined to follow in my parents' footsteps and I'm not destined to lose my battle with my illnesses.
I understand all of this on a logical level, but there's still that intrusive voice telling me that I will fail, I'm sick, I'm not normal, and I never will be.
I started attending a spiritual group for a few weeks, and I quickly grew to love it. After the meeting, a bunch of us would go eat at this little restaurant and just have a good time.
An older gentleman, an amazing mad scientist, soon joined. I was totally fascinated by him and I was eager to talk to him one-on-one.
One day at the restaurant, we ended up sitting next to each other and chatting. All of a sudden he said, "What is that on your face?"
Confused, I asked him to clarify.
He replied, "I didn't have my glasses before. Did you always have all those little dots on your face?"
I was stunned, and I managed a quiet, "Yes."
I never returned to the group after that. I was plagued with mortifying thoughts of how he could ask that in such a way, as if it wouldn't offend me.
My skin is clear now, but this still sticks with me.
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."
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.
I moved in with my dad when I was 15, but I still felt like my mom and little brother were my responsibility, and that I let them down by leaving to live with my dad.
I told my dad that I wanted to go back to my mom's, and he said things like, "You're being selfish," "You can't leave me alone," "I know you have a better heart than that; you're not like your mom," or "You're two-faced as f**k."
He would get mad at me if I ever told my mom about my worries or anger towards him, and he would then say nasty comments until I was a crying mess. Then he would send me to school while he would stay home and complain about me to our downstairs neighbors.
I still can't get over feeling like I've betrayed both of my parents. I still feel responsible for my parents and little brother. I can't help feeling like I'm trapped in a corner.
Has anyone ever made a fleeting comment about you that immediately became tattooed onto the front of your brain for all of eternity, impacting your self-perception and self-worth? Whether it was an offhand comment made by someone you love and respect or a fleeting declaration by someone you barely know, we share the moments that stick.
