One Hell Of A Way To Come Back (How Long Has It Been?) in In My World

TW: Trauma, talk of inner child healing, mention of suicide,

I had a really heavy ptsd-fueled realization today. You know those moments in movies when the character can see and hear everything happening all at once? And then a few minutes pass and they snap back into reality? That’s what it felt like. Let me explain. Buckle up because this is going to end up being a fucking novel and you’re going to have to keep up with the train of thought.

My mom and I watched Turning Red this evening and after that I was rambling about a project I did on red pandas in the 3rd or 4th grade. ADHD brain went from that to figuring out what teacher I had what year.

Have I ever told you why I hated reading growing up? I guess it’s time for a story time. I was about 6 years old and in 2nd grade. My class was in the library. The books were labeled with those little colored circle stickers to indicate what reading level they were. I only vaguely remember what the library looked like, no memory of who was there, and only one strong memory from that day. I picked a book about Maine Coon cats because I had one at the time. I had to ask my teacher what two of the words were (because, you know, learning to read and all that). She told me that that book was too difficult for me and that I needed to find one that was “easy for me”. I picked out another book about cats. She came over and told me that the pink dot books were too hard (I think 4th grade reading level, maybe 5th? I don’t remember.) for me and to pick out a green dot book. None of the animal books had green dots. I don’t remember anything else from that day, or from most of that year. You know what sticks with me now 21 years later? Find a book that’s “easy for you”. Those are the words she used. She didn’t encourage me to strengthen my reading skills, she told me to pick an easy book. I wanted to read about cats! I was, am, and always will be interested in animals but I wasn’t allowed to read any of the animal books.

I didn’t pick up another book willingly until I was a freshman in high school. 7 years later. Let that sink in for a second. Something my teacher said to me in passing at 6 kept me from reading until I was 13. I hated reading, I hated school, and I was bad at it. I had a librarian I liked a lot and I started going to book club because my sister did, because my friends did. I picked up a book called “The Christopher Killer” and I read it in, like, 2 days. We had a shelf of some sort of award winning books for young adults for that year, right? I read most of them. I’d read a whole book in a night more than once. My favorite books of all time were on that shelf. They’re still my favorites years later. (God I wish I could find that list of books, I’ve tried.)

Do you know what else happened that year? My grandpa died and we moved an hour away but lied to the school so we could keep going to school there. It was my sister’s senior year and it would be ending in just a couple months so our mom kept us in that school. Do you know what else happened that year? I scored high enough on my SOLs and got grades high enough to be recommended for advanced geometry (math is my worst subject) and advanced biology for 10th grade. I switched schools and they put me in all gen-ed classes. I stopped reading. For a long time. You know what else happened? I fell asleep during a math/reading placement test and got put in remedial classes. They were mixed into regular classes but sometimes we had to be taken to another classroom. Questions were all read out to us.

I’m a bad test taker and get distracted easily (adhd, possibly other learning divergencies) so when I had to be in the group of kids who needed the test read to them, I started doing worse. I barely passed high school. I fell asleep in school a lot because I wasn’t sleeping at home, I was depressed, I was anxious, and I needed help with my learning divergencies. Instead of noticing any of that, I got sent to guidance because they were convinced that I was suicidal because I slept in class. No. I was tired from sleeping maybe an hour the night before. Worst part? My mom never even got a phone call. They were CONVINCED I was going to unalive myself and they never even attempted to contact my mom.

I fell through the cracks repeatedly throughout my grade school journey. From being told to pick an easy book, all the way to being put in to remedial classes, and then to having to retake an SOL in order to graduate (I pass-advanced the retest, just sayin). My mom knew my whole life that I had ADHD but my schools and teachers never recommended me get tested for it. They just said I had trouble with “talking in class” as well as “keeping my eyes on my own paper”. It’s possible that I’m dyslexic along with dyscalculic. It’s possible that it’s something else entirely. I was never tested. The teacher KNEW I’d fallen asleep and took my barely answered test and I never got a chance to retake it. I always did so well on tests that were retakes.

Circle back with me, now, because I’m nearing the realization. I am 27 years old. One sentence that was said to me at 6 altered how I’d learn throughout my entire life. I was a child! They should have been encouraging me and helping me advance. They didn’t care. I remember very few teachers that I ever connected with and that helped me. I had an amazing English teacher in my senior year that told me that he could see I wasn’t meant to be in the other class but there wasn’t anything he could do to move me. I stayed in remedial classes. The only reason I passed some grades is because “no child left behind”.

My mom did her absolute best with us and I think she feels some guilt about this. It wasn’t until YEARS later that I told her about the book. She would read all the books I had to read for class to me. Until I was in high school and, honestly, a couple times in high school. Sometimes I would read it to her but most of the time she read and I listened. Words will never be able to express how absolutely significant that is/was for me. My mom did everything she knew how to do for me while also helping my siblings be their best. The school system failed me. Every. Single. Time.

Fast forward- I have always worked with children. I was the babysitter at family functions starting at age 12 (I think). My sister always made me be the mommy when we played house, even though she’s 3 years older. Even now, I’ve just become a full-time 3s teacher after being a floater for 3 years. I have had some of these kids since before they could sit up. And all the kids after them? Most of them hadn’t even been born yet! I’ve seen 2 pre-k classes graduate to kindergarten. I’ve seen so many of the younger kids go from being a little angry potato to speaking in full sentences. I helped some of them learn and grow and express themselves. This remarkable little boy went from being a teeny-tiny 5 pounds and smaller than most of our baby dolls to being a funny, sweet, crazy, cranky, happy almost-3-year-old. That child has spit up, thrown up, peed, pooped, cried, and even bled on me. I love him like he is my own. He’s much more bonded to other teachers but I’m looking forward to having him in my class in August. I have stories about every single child. I make a point to learn something unique about each child.

The realization? I became a teacher because I don’t want those babies to ever feel like I did. I want kids and I can’t have them at this point in my life so I pour all my love into them. I CARE about them. This job was never just a paycheck for me. I’m helping raise the next generation. I’m determined to have my classroom be an open, loving, caring, safe space for those children. We have no idea how parents are talking to them at home but we sure as hell can keep from saying negative things to them at school too. Does that eliminate behavior problems? No. But you know what? Those children deserve to be respected as individuals. Those kids deserve to feel seen and cared about.

You have to be SO SO SO careful about what you say to children because you never know what will turn out to be a core memory for them. It takes a thousand comments of praise/compliment to undo ONE negative comment. Sometimes it never gets undone.

Tonight, I am too tired and sick, but. We’re going to start doing some inner child healing. It’s time. She deserves to know that it wasn’t her fault. The grown-ups in her life (except her mom, her best friend) failed her, repeatedly. She deserves to feel safe, seen, and heard. She deserves to heal. We need to heal together.

Inner child me,

I need you to know that nothing that happened (even unrelated to school) was our fault. We were/you are a CHILD. It took me until today to realize that what Ms. Loving said was a core memory for us. She doesn’t have the power anymore. We do. We get to go read that cat book if we want to and she has no say. (The cover doesn’t look like I remember but I’m fairly certain I found it used on amazon. I’m buying it, if for no other reason than for spite. When you’re ready we will read it together) She should have let us read it in the first place. She should have encouraged us to sound-out the words and keep trying. She should have taken the time to help us grow a love of reading. You wanted to read a book about cats because you had one! You picked a book about a cat that looked the most like yours. You deserved to read that book. That opportunity should never have been taken from you. We like reading now. We like writing. What she said does not have power anymore. You should have been allowed to read it in the first place. You needed encouragement but she wouldn’t give you the time of day. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. You internalized that comment for most of your childhood until you told our mom as an adult. You even forgot about it sometimes. Tonight we think about this, we let it out, we think and talk about it, and when we’re ready? We let it go. She messed up how we viewed school and reading, but she doesn’t get to have that power anymore. We survived, now we need to take back what was ours. The words. We’ll heal, I promise. Come, I’ll hold your hand. One day we will be ready to heal.

Goodnight, Babygirl. I love you.

If you took the time to read this, thank you. I don’t really write for anyone, though. Just me. I want to remember all these moments that become so important later. I want my awakenings written down so if I start to forget, I can read them and remember.

Thank you,
Goodnight.

TLDR: School fucked me up. It’s time to heal.

Last updated April 06, 2022