As I was driving my husband to work this morning, I couldn’t help but reminisce on my school days given how many children in crisp uniforms I saw through passing car windows.
From conversations with others, there seem to be two camps of people. Those who would go back to school in a heartbeat, and those like me who can think of little worse.
And it’s not necessarily because I *hated* school, it’s the mix of emotions towards it that causes a light sheen of sweat to coat my skin.
On the one hand, I loved learning. My insatiable curiosity was well & truly nourished and homework felt like a gift. Excluding Geography, I found every subject fascinating.
The thing I didn’t enjoy? The other students.
It’s not that I’m an anti-social person, nor do I identify as an introvert but I always felt like I was on the outside looking in. (I wonder if everyone feels like this?)
In part, I attribute this feeling of being different to the fact my dad died when I was 7, ridding me of that childlike carefree attitude and instead showing me how incredibly finite our lives are. I made a decision during that period of time to live life to the fullest. To learn as much as I could and never give anything less than 100% because to do so would disrespect those whose time had already run out.
In school, “giving 100%” felt measurable. There were actual tests in which I could aim for that perfect number, and with enough study and hard work could come close to achieving.
(As a side note - I got either an A or A* in every exam except English which I got a B in. Guess which result my stepdad still brings up to this day? Mhm. Guess which subject I then decided to take an A-Level in just to prove I wasn’t a failure? Mhm. And guess what impact my proceeding to achieve an “A” at this higher level had on this constant teasing? Mhm. I had to make my mum promise not to let him mention it in my wedding speech.)
The only thing that ever seemed to get in the way of my quest for perfection was the other students.
I distinctly remember one Psychology lesson in college where my classmates were so disruptive that the teacher gave up and ended the class early. I was furious and quietly seethed at both the other students for their disrespect and the teacher for quitting. “How dare he? How dare they?” I quietly thought to myself, whilst eating my lunch alone in the Art Classroom like I did every other day, unsure how to make friends when it seemed most others didn’t think like me.
There are of course other stories in my past of bullying at a young age that probably contributed to my feelings of “otherness” but no matter where they formed - these stories that I am *different* are ones that I still carry around with me today, like a swarm of midges that refuse to leave no matter how much you swat them away.
I would honestly say that it wasn’t until I started my business in 2018 at the age of 29 that I truly found my people.
The deep thinkers and feelers. The ones who refuse to play the role that society has handed them. The ones who crave more for themselves. And not more in the sense of more “stuff” - but more joy. More fulfilment. Who want to experience all that life has to offer them and know that can’t be achieved stuck behind a desk working for someone else.
This journey of entrepreneurship has been a gift for me, and I wish I could go back to younger Becky, anxiously sitting in that Art Room alone and reassure her that it’s all going to be ok. To not worry so much and to help her understand that “giving 100%” isn’t about proving yourself to others, it’s about giving 100% to yourself and whatever you need in this present moment.
I wonder what the children going to school today would want to hear? And whether hearing it would make a difference anyway?
I suppose this is an invitation to you dear reader, to take a moment and send comfort to that past version of you too. They say time is non-linear after all and who knows, maybe those unexpected waves of goosebumps we occasionally feel are messages from our future selves, cheering us on. Fun to think about, no?
