We are what we become

I had this epiphany while teaching a class the other day.
As I stood there, at the front of the class, I thought about how much I love talking, telling stories, engaging with people, being a bit of a goof. And that's part of what I love about teaching, and its part of why my clients like me as a teacher.
And then I remembered how much trouble I got in for doing that when I was in school.
More specifically, the year it caused the most torment was grade 6. I had the most horrible teacher in the world in grade 6 – Miss Wilson. I think Sue Sylvester in Glee was modeled after her. Short hair, gym teacher, mean as a snake.
I always – seriously, always – got in trouble with her for talking in class. My report cards that year all said "talks too much in class". Now, of course, this problem had been noted earlier by other teachers, but Miss Wilson had a bee in her bonnet about it. She nicknamed me "motormouth". Then she told my family that. And my family is a tough, tough crowd… and so I endured the torture and the teasing for ages afterwards.
But yet, here I was, 30 odd years later, talking, telling stories, being a bit of a goof… and thoroughly enjoying it. And getting paid for it!! I love the energy of a class. I tell ya, the more people in the class, the more fun I have and the better I teach. I feed off of that energy. And I'm a goof. And I'm getting paid for it!! Did I mention that?
Yet for Miss Wilson… and the many, many, many teachers before her who felt the same way, but less violently so… my chattering, my engaging with others, my loving the energy of a class – these were bad things. To be brow-beaten out of me. And the journey for me to find them and get them back myself took years.
And so this thought process made me wonder how many else out there… who got in trouble for stuff as a kid… are now doing exactly what they got in trouble for. And love it. And live it. And are happy. And how much nicer the route would have been, if we were truly appreciated for our gifts when we were younger.
Oh… and there was Miss Mott. In grade 1. who tormented me for my poor penmanship. As a leftie, with an unusual pencil grip, my printing was wretched. My cursive writing even more so. My exercise book would be a sea of red after Miss Mott and her red marking pen were done with them. I hated her. with all the seething fury that a 6 year old can possess.

But I just wanna say – screw you Miss Mott and Miss Wilson – cause here I am! Writing. Being a goof. Engaging with people. And talking ALL THROUGH class. That's right! and I'm loving it!!!

And if you're reading this… and you're not doing what you love with your life, look back at yourself as a child. Find whatever it is and bring it home!
Xoxo
Walalbina