High School Blues

High school was mostly a blur, half-finished assignments, awkward social encounters, and the constant struggle to just get through the day. Yet, despite how much I've tried to block out, one experience stands out. I was in a program, a program that placed me in a Resource Room class.  A class designed to offer academic support, but for me, it became a source of constant frustration and self-doubt.

I can’t recall the exact moment I started to dread that early morning class, but I do remember the overwhelming feeling that settled over me as soon as I stepped inside. I was just a regular 10th grader, trying to survive my high school years, but the atmosphere in that room made me feel small. The teacher, who was supposed to help us with homework that we would struggle with, seemed more interested in belittling us. It was as if she had already made up her mind: we were the "slow" ones, the underachievers, and no amount of effort could change her opinion.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but she had a way of chipping away at my confidence, class after class. Her comments were subtle but enough to make me feel like I didn’t belong, like my struggles defined who I was. And for a while, I believed her. I thought maybe I was just not good enough, not smart enough.

One day, I just decided…

“Why even bother going back to that class?”

I started skipping it, hiding that fact from my mom, who, might I add, worked in the school district I attended. I spent that time hanging out with friends or scrambling to finish homework elsewhere.

My rebellion didn’t last long. I knew my mom would find out sooner or later. So, instead of continuing to hide, I came clean. I don’t remember all the details of our conversation, but I do remember how I was so pissed off that to my surprise, a curse word slipped out right in front of her. Even more surprising, my mom wasn’t angry; instead, she listened and understood. It turned out she knew exactly who that teacher was, and she wasn’t surprised. Apparently, that teacher had a reputation.

With my mom’s support, I dropped the class for good.

Months later, during a routine meeting with my teachers and counselor, that Resource Room teacher tried to regain control. She criticized me, claiming I would have "benefited" from staying in her class. She brought up my skipping, trying to paint me as irresponsible, but my mom, already well-informed, shut her down.

The other teachers praised my efforts and acknowledged that I had managed just fine without that class. Their words contradicted everything that woman had said.

A few years after that meeting, I graduated from High School and while I was going to get my first college degree, that’s when I realized something. I wasn’t incompetent, I was just being undermined by someone who didn’t even bother to get to know me.

I know that I am not defined by someone else’s low expectations. No one has the right to make you feel small or incapable, and I should have never let her judgments determine my self-worth. Looking back, I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, as my mom likes to call it. But I also recognize that experience as a memorable one. It taught me to trust myself and not let others’ opinions shape my view of who I am. If I had stayed in that class, accepting her assumptions about me, I might still believe that I wasn’t good enough.