THOSE AWKWARD YEARS

Tonight’s post is a reflection of my teenage years, most specifically my high school years.

This reflection is prompted by a meeting that took place earlier this week. I was sitting in the canteen of my new school when a very familiar face appeared in my periphery. I recognised this face as a stern formidable force but could not place exactly where I knew her from or why this perfectly lovely person would stir up feelings I had not felt for a while. To cut a long story short this lovely woman and new colleague turned out to me my old form tutor and science teacher from high school.

Suddenly, in my place of work, where I am a fierce professional, my embarrassing awkward years had returned after more than 20 years and were staring at me in the face.

I like to remember my high school years as a place where I was popular, graceful , intelligent and witty. I’ve often thought about them with wistful , rose-tinted eyes. I’ve lived happily for the last 20 years with this illusion of adolescence, until Monday, when I realised with real horror that this lovely woman extending the hand of friendship between new colleagues, had seen me at my very worst, and the real memories came flooding back.

I was a real mess at high school. I fought daily with my innate need to be good and my need to rebel. At primary school I had done relatively well. I had a nice group of friends, I loved the work and learning and enjoyed the projects and often did extra work at home. When I started high school it took me a while to realise that it wasn’t ‘cool’ to complete extra work at home.

I remember sitting in my first French class at high school and being able to answer the teacher quite confidently (a mixture of my knowledge of Italian and excellent primary French teaching aided this). I also remember hearing someone (male) in the back of the classroom mock me, followed by sniggering. This small act put me off speaking out in class and I think was the start of my disengagement with languages.

My PE teacher immediately put me off sports / PE in the first session. At a time when you are acutely aware of your body, my female PE teacher insisted the we surrendered our towels and took the long shameful (naked) walk along the shower cubicles after each lesson. The memory of that still haunts me, and all the girls that were subjected to this form of torture and humiliation. This put me off taking part, and started a long list of creative excuses signed off by my parents (I’d rotate signatures weekly). I got away with this for nearly a year until my mother was asked if there was something medically wrong with me, as I had been having my period for 9 weeks straight!

One teacher – my English teacher – was amazing and ever so patient, and would take in my short stories with my work book, and mark them. She didn’t have to do this, and I’ll be forever grateful that she did not mention them in public and took the time to read them. She did this for me right up until I left after taking my GCSEs. It is not surprising that English Literature was a subject I loved and one I continued to study after high school. She was an amazing teacher.

If I’m honest I think my main problem at school – in lessons – was that I wanted to do well, I enjoyed my studies and learning and really did not want to get into trouble. But it was just so much fun to do the wrong thing. And it got me noticed. So I had this constant internal struggle. I want to sit and listen and learn, but equally I absolutely HAD to find out who was in the ‘top ten hot boys’ list, or fix my makeup, or pass round the gum, or just giggle with my best friend.

Things spiraled out of control when I discovered boys, and that’s another post altogether. There was also the few years where I was bullied so much one of the girls approached me one afternoon in the Languages corridor and told me that they were going to ‘leave me alone for a while’ because they were worried I’d kill myself. That’s another post for another time, and I promise you I was not innocent – every bully is bullied by someone they say, and I’m ashamed to say that while I had my bullies, I was also a bully to others. It makes me sick now. But that is for another day.

Tonight is about all the feelings of awkwardness that suddenly came flooding back this week. The ridiculous perm, the orange face, the tears and sobbing over the latest ‘love of my life’, the lessons I spent stood outside because I’d said something ‘witty’ on entering the room, my tiny tiny skirt, the stupid things I’d say to teachers to get a laugh, the silly ‘cat fights’ which were usually provoked by the latest ‘hot boy’ and all the things I thought were so important – but had forgotten.

This awkwardness was staring at me as I stood there; a 35-year-old professional woman with 13 years teaching experience, a degree, a husband and children of my own; in front the woman who had witnessed it all. Every heartbreak, tantrum, bad fashion choice, teenage spot and argument had manifested itself in this woman I was to work alongside. I was 14 again, and what did I do?

Did I apologise for asking her to explain foreplay to me (it was a dare)? Did i apologise for the grief I caused her over the length of my skirt? Did I apologise for telling her that I ‘hated her and her subject’? Did I even thank her for persevering and eventually helping me achieve a B in Science?

No I didn’t. I shook her by the hand, we had a laugh at how horrid I was at school and we moved on. But for one split second I was 14, and I wanted to snap my gum at her, and take out my cigarettes from my shirt sleeve (yes I hid them there – and no I am no longer a smoker) and shout ‘I’m not doing this work and you can’t make me!’

I suppose we all go through the awkward stage, and I think I had just forgotten it, maybe that is how we move on, we forget how much of a mess we were. We forget long enough to get our sh*t together and become adults.

I may not have been the most popular, pretty, clever, witty teenager. I made mistakes, some of them huge. I cried an ocean of tears over boys and bullies, I was cruel, I was stroppy, I was lonely and I was angry. I also had fun and made some good friends and we had some good times. But ultimately I look back and now with the rose tints removed I see a mess.

But that is ok. I’m not a mess now. I have my sh*t together. I own my sh*t now!

I made it through high school. I survived. And even though I’ll now be working alongside a constant reminder of this mess, I know I’ll never have to go back.

Never! Phew !!!!!!!