TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE, TRAUMA
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a letter to my kindergarten teacher. In case you were wondering, my kindergarten teacher was one of the first adult figures in my life who caused harm to me.
When I became her student, I was a five-year-old kid newly diagnosed with ADHD. I was a rambunctious and disruptive kid who probably scared the living daylights out of her teachers, school nuns, and peers because I didn’t seem to behave according to the expectations of my old school. Around this time, I was attending a Catholic, all-girls school that was managed by a group of nuns who had a reputation for being punitive and cruel under the guise of discipline and structure. I was also diagnosed in the late ‘90s, which meant that mental health awareness was scant, and neurodevelopmental disorders like ADHD were lumped under the phrases of “may tililing ka,” or that your ADHD characteristics are a series of character failings. Because of these factors, the interventions that were done to me by my teacher, the school administrators, and the guidance counselors were terrible and extremely traumatizing. During class, I was supervised by the guidance counselors like I was some freak. On the other hand, my teacher would say things like I’m a bad kid, or that I do not have a future in life due to my behavioral issues that stemmed from my ADHD. The worst part about these interventions was the regular meetings with a nun who would strike my tongue and slap my hand while telling me that I was a bad kid and that I would go to hell.
For a five-year-old, these “interventions” were too much. They were so bad and so extreme that these experiences massively impacted my self-esteem and my mental health. It was through these experiences that I became very hard on myself, conflated discipline with fear and punishment, developed demand avoidance, and embraced a mindset where everything that I do in life was just to prove my worth to others by proving them wrong. It was hard (and still is) to do something without thinking of what others would say about my output and my productivity. I spent the next 2 decades shaping myself hoping to compensate for the punishments that I’ve received from these people as some form of revenge. I had to push myself to the point of burnout to be seen as “normal,” dismiss my needs and adopt toxic, limiting beliefs and ableist practices in the process.
Whenever I talk about these experiences to my friends or acquaintances, I would usually be met with a dismissive response where they would ask me to “move on for my own sake.” One time, someone from a community chat told me that “I was just in kindergarten and that I have to be able to move on without seeking closure.” However, my mind and my heart couldn’t do it unless I reached out to my kindergarten teacher or the guidance counselors that caused all this harm to me. I cannot achieve the justice or closure that I wanted (and needed) without making an effort to reach out to these people. I knew I had to do it, despite the consequences. I needed to reach out for my peace of mind. Even though I constantly strive to acknowledge that I’ve grown leaps and bounds from my seemingly uncontrollable 5-year-old self, I still want her to heal and affirm that she is not a bad, irredeemable person who is not worthy to live and experience the good things in life. I want to give Little Lea the justice that she deserves. She’s been through a lot, and I want her to feel that she’s going to be safe and that she’s worthy of healing, community, and creativity.
After weeks of agonizing, I finally made the effort to write my true feelings about my experience as a kindergarten student. At first, I held back from making and sending my letter, since my friends thought that it was a waste of time, creativity, and energy since they thought that I was better off sharpening my talents in more positive outlets. But as I’ve said in my previous point, how can I cultivate my talents and my creativity more genuinely if something so traumatic and so painful broke the core of my being and robbed me of my ability to believe that I am worthy of so many things and that I deserve a bright future? I spent 25 years of my life believing that I wasn’t good enough and that my existence was a crime that needed to be constantly paid.
Eventually, I wrote the letter and sent it to my kindergarten teacher over Messenger. I know people will never fully understand my choice of sending it, but this effort was for my peace of mind—despite the outcome.
To my surprise, my kindergarten teacher replied. I was initially shocked by her response since I already had this negative perception of her.
She acknowledged my feelings and my efforts to speak out and seek healing from everything that I went through. She also apologized and showed remorse for playing a part in the pain that I experienced as a child. She also shared that my perspective on/that/ experience is a lesson for her to channel empathy, kindness, and understanding in her work as a teacher. After all, teachers are caregivers too for many children, and they contribute a lot to how we see the world.
Reading her response still makes me cry. It’s as if a huge thorn has been taken out of my body, reminding me that better days are coming and that they are real. This was also a wake-up call for me to start putting in the work in my healing journey, even if it meant going back to basics. These basics include paying attention to my basic needs and meeting them every day (aka interoception) as part of self-care. I am also reminded to embrace my capabilities, as well as the power that I hold in making my life marginally better. I have a voice, and it matters.
While I’m lucky to experience an engaging dialogue with someone who has caused harm to me, other people will not be as receptive. They would rather invalidate my experiences or forget the harm that they’ve caused to me. Rather than feeling dejected about their reaction, the best response I can give is harnessing my inherent worthiness and learning to live life according to my values. After all, the best way to seek revenge is a life well-lived. And I’m getting there.
Anyway, I hope you have a good day and I hope you live your life well. You’re worthy.
Until the next brain dump,
Lea