Picture this: a distant relative’s slightly creepy comments about your cute bare-bottomed toddler days, complete with pinchy fingers and a sigh, urging you, Don’t grow up too fast, yah hear?
That image[1] is ubiquitous; it represents a stepping stone we all take to reach adulthood. It’s ironic, really. Life’s greatest lessons aren’t taught by our overworked, underpaid teachers but by Father Time—who takes decades and a chunk of flesh to do it. Not that our teachers don’t try. Often, they do. Their wisdom just falls on deaf, adolescent ears.
I was warned by many a stern-faced adult that these four years would be the best of my life and that I better not waste them. My response? Scoff and double-down on the desire to get the F out of there. High school is difficult for most people, and that could be for a variety of external factors—stress at home, academic pressure, food insecurity—but what we don’t consider enough are the internal reasons. I can’t speak for every external hardship, only what I experienced, but the internal battles feel more universal.
For years, I conjured up memories of high school using my child-self’s recall, convinced I’d been terribly wronged. (I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.) But life’s rarely that simple. Honestly, I don’t know if there’s even a way to “fix” these internal struggles—they’re just part of being a teenager. That’s why Time is the only apt teacher. Adults can chant every tired-but-true cliché until they’re blue in the face, and kids will still roll their eyes. I certainly did. And that’s a damn shame because I finally get it now.
Lemme put it this way. If I could redo high school with my current brain intact, I’d be mighty tempted.
Sure, some external factors might hold me back, but it’d be worth the do-over. But if redoing it meant I had to relive the chaos of a still-developing teenage mind—hormones, insecurities, and bad decisions included? There’s not a chance in hell I’d go back.
At that age, identity is almost assigned to you. We’re so young and unsure of who we are or who we want to be. In a small town like mine, labels stick to you like glue—labels that usually have nothing to do with your true self. You’re categorized by things like your appearance, your friends, your religious beliefs or what street you grew up on. You’re pigeonholed by your parents, their money, or their reputations. I even remember a mother who despised my mom so much that she passed that hate right on to her kids.
If you were one of the lucky ones who actually knew who you were, no one else would care. They’d already decided who you ought to be. On top of all that, your brain’s an emotional mess, your peers are just as lost, and you’re all stuck together in a pressure cooker disguised as a school. What did we think was going to happen?
Is this type of environment necessary for a child’s development? I don’t know. Is it a realistic preview of the adult world we’re all destined to join? Maybe, maybe not.
I suppose there’s no saving them—we can’t shield kids from growing up. Coddling isn’t the answer; the world’s tough, so they ought to be too. But that doesn’t make the stories of bullying that end in tragedy any less gut-wrenching. No amount of telling a kid “It gets better” will make them believe it or lift that crushing despair.
But now I get why adults keep saying those platitudes anyway, even after the eye rolls and slammed doors. They just want to help. They want kids to understand.
Even though they won’t. They can’t.
[1] I fully embrace this dotty, elderly relative role now, as I have said something like this several times already.
inspo: recent Facebook Memories // memoir musings // a few random conversations with old friends // a tragic news story about a bullied child taking her own life
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Oh my goodness: your writing is just so darned beautiful, eloquent and soulful. I feel every word – and have a sense of being in the scene that you remember on the page.
I actually get a little thrill every time I see a new post from you.
Thank you.
Your words mean so much to me. Seriously. I appreciate your continued readership. (Truth be told, I just as eagerly look forward to your comments.) You’re the best 😍