When I was in fourth grade, our teacher told us to write a paper about a person from history. I went home and immediately wrote a paper on Clara Barton, who had always fascinated me. On the morning that my teacher returned our graded papers, she didn’t give mine back. Instead, she asked me to stay in during recess so that she could talk to me.
When my classmates went to recess, I sat at a chair in front of my teacher’s desk. She picked up my paper and said, “I’m going to give you some words, and I want you to tell me the definitions.” She gave me word after word—ones I recognized from my paper—and I gave her the definitions. She said, “Well, you did your homework. You know the words even if you didn’t write the paper.” Shocked, I said, “But I did write the paper.” She asked me which research books I’d used. I told her I hadn’t used any, that I knew about Clara Barton because I’d read about her. My teacher leaned back in her chair and started reading my paper out loud, in a high, mocking voice. When she put it down, she said, “You wrote that?” “Yes,” I said. “Every word is yours?” she asked. Again I answered yes.
My teacher asked me if I knew what plagiarism was. I did, and I told her. She said, “Renee, no one likes a show-off. You could have just said that plagiarism is stealing someone else’s words.” I wasn’t showing off; I was defining plagiarism in words that made sense to me—words I knew. It hurt me that she thought I was trying to show off, and it devastated me that she thought I was capable of stealing other people’s words. Words were my currency. I knew their value. I would no more steal someone else’s words than I would walk into a bank and try to steal someone else’s money. I told my teacher I hadn’t done it. “You might as well tell me the truth, Renee,” she said. “But I am telling you the truth,” I said. At that, my teacher took out a red pen and wrote a giant “F” on the top of my paper. She told me she would speak to my parents at parent-teacher conferences. Then she said, “You’re free to go.”
I bolted from the classroom, but I wasn’t free. My teacher had managed, in less than a half hour, to change who I was. She had taken something precious and beautiful to me—my love of words and my ability to put them together—and made it feel dirty. I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I didn’t feel guilty. Instead, I felt a pervasive sense that I was something wrong. I didn’t know it then, but that feeling was shame.
I continued to write and to collect words, but only at home. At school, I started working hard for the first time in my life—I labored over tests, writing answers that seemed dumb to me but wouldn’t raise any suspicion with my teacher. I did all my homework twice—the first time, I did it the way I always had. The second time, I deliberately misspelled words and took out any words that had more than two syllables. My teacher never confronted me again. I continued to do this in junior high and high school, until Monty and I started spending time together. I felt so comfortable with him that I never even considered speaking differently to him than I did at home. On our first official date, he smiled at a phrase I used and said, “I like the way you talk.” My heart skipped a beat.
When I started college, I quickly realized that the words and writing I’d been hiding were valuable, and I thrived in an atmosphere where learning was applauded and writing was considered a craft. Yet when I graduated from college and sat down at my computer, ready to write, I couldn’t. I kept hearing my fourth grade teacher’s words: “Show-off.” “Plagiarist.” And I added a few of my own: “Imposter.” “Cheater.” “Liar.”
Unable to write, anxious, and depressed, I went to a therapist. The therapy helped, but my migraines worsened, and I ended up addicted to painkillers. When I got clean and sober and started writing again, the words that had been pent-up for years poured out of me in a beautiful catharsis. I wrote about my years of addiction without shame. But I still felt shame regarding writing and words. I struggled with the way I spoke to people, worried that they’d think I was showing off. After a recent recovery meeting, I told Monty how embarrassed I was for using a word the group didn’t know. Monty asked me if I’d told them what it meant, and I said, “No. I acted like I had probably misused it and let them look it up in the dictionary.” Monty said, “Why would you pretend not to know it?”
Why? Because I still feel that old sense of shame about writing and words. I still worry that people will think I’m trying to show off. I still struggle to call myself a writer, even though every fiber of my being and every beat of my heart tells me I am. I still cringe when I post a blog announcement on Facebook—I love writing my blog but hate the self-promotion aspect of it.
It’s been decades since that teacher shamed me. And it’s taken me decades to realize that every time I let her words into my mind, I’m picking up where she left off and shaming myself. I wonder how many of us have similar stories of shame. How many of us live like birds in cages, afraid to fly and unable to sing our God-given song because we’re too ashamed of who we are to sing it? I’m finally letting go of that shame—the shame that keeps me caged and hiding from who I really am. And who am I, really? I’m a writer. For the first time in my life, I’m making that statement without cringing, without my cheeks flushing in shame, and without feeling like an imposter. I’m a writer, and these are my words—every one of them. And, dare I say it? I do. I’m proud of them.
“An exciting and inspiring future awaits you beyond the noise in your mind, beyond the guilt, doubt, fear, shame, insecurity and heaviness of the past you carry around.” Debbie Ford
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Comments 12
Hi Renee,
Just thinking of a few more names I could hang on your 4th grade teacher, I thought teachers were supposed to encourage students that were ahead of the rest of the class. I sense that you are getting a head of this damage the teacher did. You are letting your wonderful talent break out and putting yourself on the right track to let your thinking be free and blossom. Like they say “you go gril”, forget about that bad experience and get on with life. It was so easy for this teacher to put down a 4th grader and you were so scared ( believe me I understand I have been chewed out by some the best at chewing out other people) but I would bet now as an adult you would blow this teacher off and continue doing your thing. I learned a long time ago through bad experiences never lower yourself to please someone else. It is a hard life lesson that teacher put you through, but on the good side you are now stronger. No more holding Renee down, right!!
I struggle with writing, spelling but I had a very stern mother who made sure that my vocabulary was as correct as she could teach me, and working in the printing business I worked around people who at times took a shot at me for the way I spoke I would just tell them to look up the word and quit being so stupid, got by with it for a lot of years.
I am going to sign off for now, keep up the great work!
Love,
Grover
Grover–you nailed it and said it better than I could! I’m finally getting away from the damage the teacher did and letting myself be free to be me. I hope that you’re right, and as an adult I would have been able to ignore what she said. And oh, I love what you said about not lowering myself to please other people. It never works anyway. I think I should take a page from your book and stand up for myself more. And you’ve given me a new mantra–“no more holding me down.” Thank you. And thank you for your encouragement, as always. It means a great deal to me. Love to you. ❤
Renee,
As I read your most recent entry on your blog, I am helping students write their Senior Thesis, a requirement added since your graduation. I felt a check in my spirit wondering if I had limited your expression in class. Your writing, your honesty, your willingness to be so vulnerable, often blows my socks off! If I didn’t say it as your teacher, “Well done, Renee! A+!”
Patricia, those are fortunate students to have your help. You did NOT limit my expression in class. Monty and I both learned quite a bit from you and are so grateful for that. You did tell me “Well done” back then, but it makes me so happy to hear it from you again. Thank you so much for your words of encouragement.
If I could go back in time and have a word with that teacher, I would. Then again, I would be a little boy and I don’t think it would have made a huge impact. But I would try!
Seriously, great blog and I feel so sorry for that little Renee. I remember YOU giving the class spelling bees (throughout elementary), pronouncing and using the word in a sentence, for the class, instead of the teacher because your spelling and english skills were so advanced compared to the rest of us. I still remember the chart hanging in the classroom where a student would get a star sticker for each spelling test they got 100% on. Yours was a solid line of stars! You’ve been gifted with a mastery of the english language and your writing is the best!
I wish that teacher would have seen the many times one of your college professors not only gave you perfect scores but also hung your paper or test on their door as an example of what the perfect paper/test looks like. And, I wish they could have read all your writings and poems and blogs since then too!
I want you to really absorb what others have told you today about your writing and you being an amazing writer. They are not just saying it. They really mean it! And you deserve those compliments because you are an amazing and gifted writer.
Oh, Monty. I don’t even know where to start. Except that I sure was proud of that solid line of stars. Thank you for reminding me of that and of my professors. I’d forgotten. I promise you–I really AM absorbing the comments today, and I’m choosing to believe them. And I believe yours most of all because you knew me then, you know me now, and you’re still saying the same things you told me all those years ago. Thank you for always making me feel like I’ve earned a solid line of stars–no matter what I do or don’t do. And thank you for making me feel safe to be myself, then and now. That’s a gift of immeasurable value. ❤
Renee, have you ever seen “Finding Forrester?” It is a story of a young black man who expresses his grief at his dad’s departure through page after page of his journals. (I’m sure he wrote other things, too, but those aren’t explained in the movie.) This young man is invited to become a student at a rather exclusive high school, and there he encounters a teacher much like your fourth grade teacher, one who accuses him of the same thing, of stealing another person’s words. He stands up to that teacher, and his story ends well. There is much more to it, but I don’t want to say more because if you haven’t seen the film, I’m sure you’ll want to. (Sean Connery plays the part of a mentor to the young man.)
It is so sad that one who should inspire denigrates instead. It hurts to think of what your teacher may have done to other students. Thank God for the freedom He leads us into when we are willing to follow Him!
Heather–I haven’t seen it, but now I plan to. I’ve often wondered about what you said–if this teacher did the same thing to anyone else. Oh, I hope not. Thank God, indeed, for the freedom from shame.
Finding Forrester is a book too — even better than the film, though the writers and producers did a good job with the film.
Ooh! Then I shall pop over to Amazon and get myself a copy. Thank you!
Good morning Sparrow. A “hard hitter”, To be confidant, proud of your own words. Not boasting, yet confident. Too bad your 4th grade teacher did not go deep enoug( with you, to respect and understand, that even at a young age, you had the ability, to “string together “words” of meaning. Not what a te@che4 should do, obviously. Then to “fake or deliberately” make errors, whatevever in your writings, up t9 a point, until,you did realize, gain the self confidence of your writing abilities, your “beauty with words”., You did not copy others words, you did not cheat or lie. Thank God, Your”broke those chains”, to be+confidant of wha5 you write. Monty, he cam3 in t9 your lif3 t9 Be you4 “Booster Rocket”, to “propel” your creative gift of “putt8ng your beautiful words” together. There, Sparrow, another example o& 2hat I call your “guts and confidence”. Again!for me, starting t9 Read today’s Blog I had no clue wha5 I would write, I hope I have explained, my own personal “ awe”, pride in reading your words, in knowing you, being Your Friend. Keep on Blogg8ng, keep putting together your powerful, beautiful words. Than’ you. See ya,TexGen
TexGen–You’re right about my teacher. But I’ve realized that in a way I did cheat–I cheated myself because I wasn’t true to myself. I like your description of Monty as my “booster rocket”–that’s exactly what he is! I’m so grateful that you always take the time to read my words and respond so thoughtfully. Thank you for such kind, encouraging words. And thank you for being my friend.