There was a time when I dreaded going to high school. During the weeks before I started my freshman year, all I could picture were mazes of hallways and classrooms, unfamiliar faces of students and teachers, and upperclassmen who loved to torture frightened freshmen.
Fortunately, my visions were exaggerated. I soon got into the swing of things in high school. I figured out which teachers really did give you detention if you were late to class, which classmates were safe and those I didn't want as my lab partners. I began to find my place in the school, as well as everyone else's place there. By October, I knew who was who and what was what.
In November, everything changed.
I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma, a cancer of the lymph nodes. I went through chemotherapy, lost all my hair and missed 40 days of school. Most people didn't know I was sick. My teachers helped me keep up in class, my friends were as supportive as they could be and I wore a wig to hide my bald head.
It was at this point that I dreaded going to school again. I didn't feel like I fit in anymore. I had lost my place, and didn't know how to find it again. Ironically, the one thing about myself that I was most ashamed of helped me to fall back into place. Towards the end of my treatment, in a small burst of bravery, I decided to stop wearing my wig. I declared I didn't care what people thought, that I didn't want to hide anymore. But inside I was very scared. How would people react to a bald girl?
But despite my doubts, one Monday in April I came to school with only a baseball hat covering my baldness. I had never had so many people stare at me before. They tried to hide it. I could tell they didn't want to be rude -- they just couldn't help themselves. I didn't say anything, mostly I just looked at the floor. That's what I did until the end of the day when one girl blurted out what I'm sure everyone else was thinking, but was afraid to say, "So why did you shave your head?" You can imagine my reaction to that one. But, oddly enough, after that one question, things were easier.
Over the next three years, I became a typical high school kid again.
Jeannette’s timid nature is a shared characteristic that we both share. This was evident through her reluctance to take off her dress while she was at the community pool with her classmate, Dinitia and other women. She was self-conscious about her body and the scar that was on her ribs as a result from an accident she had at three years old cooking hot dogs. After a few moments of encouraging herself, she was able to take off her dress and put on a bathing suit. Like Jeannette, I have struggled with shyness when it comes to body image. I started puberty at eight years old, and the children I went to school with, were relentless in teasing me about having to wear a bra. This caused my self-esteem to plummet and lead me to bind my chest with tape
There are currently organizations, such as the National Alopecia Areata Foundation that help educate personnel, on the importance of hair loss and how this can mentally challenge a person’s life who deals with a society that focuses on appearance. We as a society view hair a sign of youth, vitality and fertility in woman. Although this disease does take an emotional toll on many individuals who suffer from the disease, this should not interfere with ones dreams and goals in life. We should view this as another obstacle to overcome and not only help guide our world to a view less focused on our hair and appearance, but as a gateway to perhaps uncovering another medical
The start of a new school year as a freshmen in high school away from my hometown. Everyone is anxious for this new and fresh start meeting new people and friends. I’m on my way to school very nervous and worried that they might laugh at me. As soon as I enter the class late, everyone stops and stares at me; I walk down the aisle to the nearest empty seat. I sat down quietly throughout my classes in fear that they might notice I’m a, “funny talker,” or that they laugh at me. Everyone avoided talking to me, seat next to me, or even do projects with me. I don’t have a contagious disease; I’m like every other ordinary girl in school. I work hard for my grades, I join organizations, I have no disability, I have control of my body, but I can’t control my stuttering. I’ve had this speech disorder since I was younger. I always had trouble making friends because I stress out and get anxiety trying
There are countless times that I look into the mirror and wish I could change something about my body. As a feminist I realize what I say can be contradictory to what I feel. Of course I want to love my body and feel beautiful, but unfortunately feeling self love and acceptance is easier said than done. During freshman orientation I was sitting next to a boy waiting to get assigned to a classroom, he commented on my arms laughing at how hairy they were. (Well what can i say, i'm jewish and its genetic). So i'm sitting there thinking, "when I go home i'm going to shave, bleach, or wax my arms." Anything that will get the stupid hairs off of them. 3 years later and I've come to terms with my body hair, and embraced it. I won't get into detail but lets just say i'm not ashamed of having a little bit of arm hair.
8th grade, 8th grade from the opening day to the signing of the yearbooks. This is the year of memories, goodbyes, and regrets. 8th grade and I’m still realizing that there are people in the world that would die to go to a school like this. A school where every body knows everyone’s name, respects everyone, and where violence and fighting are about as common as the Yankees missing the playoffs. When I’m done with my homework and go to bed, as the days of 8th grade wind down, summer will come and go, and I will find myself in one of those giant, scary places called high school.
I had always been comfortable in myself, it never really bothered me how I looked, nor did it seem to bother others, the people who I called friends. As I walked through the door somehow it was as if, overnight I was expected to wear clothes that I felt awkward in (but still looked cute), shoes that hurt my feet, and makeup that clogged my already full pores. I was met with grins and giggles from others. I caught tidbits of what they were saying.
High school is every kid’s dream: less rules, more freedom, more fun. That wasn’t necessarily how it happened for me. In fact, so far my freshman year has been the worst year of my life. It started out alright. It was like a fresh start. I stopped self harming. I started eating more. Actually, I started eating a lot more, bring me to my third and final eating disorder. Binge eating. I gained weight my freshman year. This entire school year, I did not participate in one sport.
“When will it be my turn?’ I asked my reflection softly, brushing the stray hairs out of my face. My hair stood messily on the top of my head. I fingered a strand and twirled it with my fingers. It was dark brown and course styled in a massive afro. They hated it.
I was so self-conscious and honestly never thought much of myself; all I knew were the negatives. But I was always nice to everyone though, that was an important thing to me. I believed that if I was nice eventually they would stop with the bullying; this is something I would always say to myself to keep my hopes up. I was surprised though when I began high school; it felt as if everyone had totally forgot about how they would pick on me, it took all this for me to finally realize that I shouldn’t have let that happen to me. It was Friday, December 21, 2012 that I was lying in my room going through my thoughts that I finally asked myself why I don’t feel confident. It was the day I realized that I’m gorgeous, intelligent, and wise and that I shouldn’t think any less and if that anybody had anything to say otherwise I wouldn’t care. It took me all those years of bullying to finally feel genuinely happy, and secure with who I am now and to finally rip that mask off and embrace me. I thank my bullies actually because without them Chisom Stella Okafor wouldn’t be like
For much of my life, my hair and I were diametrically opposed in appearance, personality, and temperament. On my head is a thick mane of jet-black coarse curly hair. Each hair is muscular, with enough heft and hutzpah to hold a 5-pound dumbbell. I, in contrast, am a very petite girl with the arm strength of a gnat. My hair is wild. I am demure. My hair is boisterous, I, except occasionally, am composed. My hair is an extrovert, gaining energy from those around her. I am an introvert, preferring to curl up with a good book.
... the hallways. The most uncommon experience is having people point at me in streets warning their children not to be like me, but I am a very confident individual, and I am determined to go on with my life and show everyone that this little setback is not going to stop me from being an achiever in life.
Imagine it is one’s first day in high school. Standing in front befalls the entrance way to your new future, thinking of what lies ahead from the perspective of a middle school grad. One would perhaps have mixed emotions as to what to expect. Observing the new students around the corridors, it transpires as if they are dragging their feet to progress inside, for the reason that they are fresh from the blissful summer days; they are in exchange, yet again, to the reality of school homework, projects, reports and tests. Some have queries and doubts in their minds; what does one expect of themselves getting into a high school life such as this? “What remains in store for me, I wonder…” “This school year is going to be subsequently much tougher
Having spent twelve years of my school life in just one small red brick building, the years tend to fade into each other. But the year I remember most clearly and significantly is my senior year of high school, where I finally began to appreciate what this institution offered to any student who stopped to look. Before, school had been a chore, many times I simply did not feel motivated toward a subject enough to do the homework well, and seeing the same familiar faces around ever since I was 5 years old grew very tiring soon enough. But I began to see things from a different angle once I became a senior.
You know, it is really strange how quickly time passes, after spending my whole childhood wishing I was an adult, now here we are and it's a little hard to grasp. It feels like just yesterday I was standing here in the same position at eighth grade graduation. Ahh, middle school, such a joyous time for all of us, free of maturity and not a care in the world. The biggest decisions I ever had to make then was deciding which group to stand with at passing time and choosing which shirt from my extensive collection of Stussy and No Feat apparel to wear. We were all naive to the danger that lurked just around the corner. We were unaware that the carefree world we lived in was about to come crashing to the ground in a blazing inferno of real school work and responsibility ... otherwise known as high school.
As I walked through the halls, people knew; and people glared at me with curiosity glowing through their eyes - piercing me like shards of broken glass. I never knew it was so intriguing seeing, or even knowing someone who had been through a major surgery; but I guess it would be fun to know those things from another person 's perspective, one who has never had the audacity to learn what it 's like to go through those things, let alone to know how it feels to go through it themselves. Even my own friends, were curious. And I will be honest, it 's not a nice thing to be asked every hour of every day where you went or what happened; when you were still crying and traumatized about what had happened. It 's definitely not nice to learn after a while that everyone was talking behind my back and slowly making fun of me as the days went by. The names they called became much more clearer as I noticed the people who I thought were my friends, betray