Dear Year 12 English Teacher,

By Evangeline Polymeneas, July 27, 2021

Read time: 3 Mins

Dear Year 12 English Teacher, Image

Why was I never enough for you?

I don’t know if you remember me, but you taught me Year 12 English Studies. I wasn’t that good. I’m not sure what exactly made me seek out your email and contact you. Maybe as I approach the end of my university studies, I’m feeling some sort of nostalgia. Either way, I can’t shake the idea. 

Ever since I was little, I loved to read. It was my way of escaping the – often times – traumatic and turbulent childhood that I am still trying to work through today. Books saved my life, like they do most. They inspired me to want to be a writer. 

I didn’t get the best grades in English at school. School was hard for me. I often felt like a thousand eyes were always on me, every move I made being subjected to this sort of hot stare. Now, with age, I know that no one was looking at me at all. It’s my biggest regret thinking anyone was. I wonder what my school experience would’ve been like if I was the way I am now. I guess I’ll never know. 

There were moments when I thought I wouldn’t be able to be a writer. My parents warned me against the idea, fearful that my English grades were foreshadowing my prospective career or something. They wanted me to do Law, so I did. The idea of fighting for something I didn’t necessarily believe in made it hard for me to concentrate. 

I satisfied the itch of writing by doing an Arts degree. I minored in Creative Writing and majored in Politics (something to give me inspiration). But, as it always is, when I scratched, the rash only got worse. I added another degree, Media, majoring in Journalism. Now, I am in my final year, six years later, about to graduate (hopefully), with three bachelor’s degrees.

The rash is bigger than ever. 

I recently started seeing a counsellor. A free one that my university offers. His name is Oscar, and I don’t even know if I am allowed to be talking about this, but I don’t care because he is my counsellor and it’s my life. 

I decided to book an appointment because I got a bad grade, and I had an anxiety attack. The sort of anxiety attacks I used to get at school whenever another kid would sing The Saddle Club song ‘Hello World’ (my worst trigger and the only one that I have not been able to get over). 

The bad grade was a reminder of my inability to succeed. That no matter how hard I tried, or how much I changed about me, I could never do better than absolutely average. 

I don’t know why my mind suddenly turned to mush at the sight of a bad grade. I had spent the last 5 years getting wonderful grades, sitting on almost perfect GPAs. Yet, here I was, in a brand-new therapist office. Oscar hadn’t even crushed the box of his new overhead lamp. He was just as nervous as me, spinning his wedding ring around his finger, over and over. What was I doing? 

The grade reminded me of how I felt sitting in your English class. Not that it was your fault or anything. English was my worst subject, but it was my favourite. Not being able to succeed at doing something I loved was a difficult pill to swallow.

I want to be a writer. But the B+ English grades keep flashing in my mind, no matter how hard I try to hold on to that one A+ I got for an oral (I’ve always just been extra talented at orals, it’s why my parents thought I should do Law in the first place). Do good writers get B+’s in Year 12 and still go on to win Pulitzer Prizes? 

When I got that bad grade, I couldn’t help but take it as a marking of my worth. I’m not saying it’s because I got a B+ in English that I now seek psychological help. What I’m saying is, I don’t feel like a worthy writer. 

Do other writers ever feel like this? 

Evangeline.

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