In the late fall of my fourth grade year, my parents decided to switch me from the elementary school that I was attending. This announcement was made matter of factly, without fanfare. I was informed that this was being done for my own good since my current elementary school wasn’t “as good”. I was to simply accept this decree without questions or comments. I nodded silently, containing my devastation and fear.

My previous elementary school, Cranbrook, only went up to 3rd grade and all my friends and I had been transferred to Weinland Park to finish our 4th and 5th grade years. I was happy. I had gone through my right of passage into this new school and all was well with the world but now? Now I was leaving the comfortable bosom of Weinland Park to attend an unknown school – and not even at the beginning of the school year but months into it!

All I could do was tell my friends who sadly accepted the news with that sense of childlike seriousness that breaks hearts. We knew that there was no way we would ever meet again. I had no idea what this new school would be like – would I fit in? Would I find friends? Would I be okay? What would happen to me? WOULD I BE OKAY? What was expected?

The day arrived. I adorned myself in my nicest dress and sat in my father’s car, heart pounding. My father said nothing to me the entire ride. He pulled up to the front of Oakland Park Traditional Elementary School with its imposing brick facade and informed me unceremoniously that I needed to get out of the car because dropping me off had made him late for work. With my heart thumping loudly in my ears, I dutifully opened the door and walked into this new school alone. My father took off like a flash, no wave, no goodbye, no blessing.

No one was holding my hand. No one was speaking soothingly to me. No one was explaining how things would work. No one was guiding me.

I was alone. I was afraid.

I stopped in the hallway and looked around. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring about me but it was a while before an adult noticed a small, brown girl standing there, forlorn and asked me who I was.

I learned an important lesson that day –

Not only was I not a priority in my father’s life, I was a liability.

The year moved along as it is wont to do. I was shy. During recess, I stood next to the teacher, talking to her, never playing with anyone. One time I mentioned the movie “Splash” to her and my parents were informed that I should not be allowed to watch such adult movies. I later received a verbal tongue-lashing from my parents about keeping my mouth shut. They just insulted me. I was stunned because it never dawned on me that talking about a movie was a bad thing. I shrank into myself.

No one asked me what happened. No one explained about movies. No one tried to understand.

I was silenced. I was invisible.

I learned an important lesson that night –

Not only was I insensible, I was bringing shame to the family.

Later on that year, I was infected my ringworm. Ringworm is a fairly common fungal infection that is found in schools and easily treated with anti-fungal cream. My teacher noticed it and I was sent home with a note that I could not return to school until I was treated. My mother yelled at me swearing up and down that I was a dirty child who couldn’t take care of herself. I had no idea what ringworm was or how I had caught it but it didn’t matter. I was guilty. My mother yelled at me and my father stayed silent – as he was wont to do.

A day later, I accompanied my mother on the bus to a doctor’s office to be seen. She berated me the whole way there and back, informing me that I had cost her a full day of work. I used the cream and was able to return back to school but my mother continued to lambast me as a dirty, useless child.

No one explained what ringworm was. No one soothed my fears about what it would do to me. No one comforted me that it would be okay.

I was shamed. I was isolated.

I learned an important lesson those 3 days –

Not only was I incompetent and tainted, I was a burden to my family.

I was alone. Isolated. Afraid. And that is how I have spent the majority of my psychological life. Alone. Isolated. Afraid. Convinced if I could only prove myself, somehow, someway, someone would come along and love me for me and only me. Someone wouldn’t expect me to know it all, see it all, plan it all, do it all. Someone who would comfort, encourage, respect, support and love me JUST BECAUSE of me.

These lessons formed the foundation of my childhood – a foundation that taught me that I am

valueless,

unlovable,

a burden,

unwanted and

not a priority but a liability.

A foundation that was cemented by many more similar incidents that I endured at their hands. A foundation that scarred my soul.

A foundation that I must now work tirelessly to destroy so that it doesn’t destroy me.

Thanks Mommy. Thanks Daddy.