Dear High Schooler . . . (From a High School Survivor)
Hey.
You’re about to enter what could potentially be one of the hardest times of your life. I know it was for me. There will be constant doubts of where you fit in. Where you feel safe. Paddling as fast as you can just to keep your head above water. Just wanting a place you belong.
Rejection stings extra hard because you haven’t had much time to develop a strong sense of self yet. So you’re gonna grasp for any attachment and attention you can get. It’s normal. You’re gonna have some bright ideas about outfits and hairstyles and things to say or do that you’ll think are True Brilliance. A decade from now, you’ll probably think differently about that and about a million other things. It’s okay. It happens to the best of us.
Wishing you could just grow up faster
Listen, four years in the grand scheme of your life, it’s gonna pass. You’re gonna make it through. This is just a blip in the radar. But in the moment, you’re gonna wish you could grow up faster. Get your own license. Your car. Get out of here. It’ll come, dear. It’ll come. I know it seems like forever, but it’ll come. Patience isn’t necessarily a strong suit right now. I get it. You feel like you’re coming apart at the seams. Like there’s no time to wait.
There are a lot of chemical things going on in your brain and your body right now. They’re gonna make you feel like you’re going crazy. Like you’re losing it. I know it sucks. But according to nature, it’s supposed to be this way. The days will go slow. Four years will feel like a literal eternity that you cannot bear. I know. Just today. Just one more day.
Maybe you’ll make some friends who will make everything okay. You might find yourself in love. Or something like it. You might find yourself wishing you could just die. Or something like it.
The moments you’ll remember
Believe it or not, most moments of your days and your weeks and years here will probably end up in a blur you’ll never remember or think back to. But there are a few moments you’ll come back to the rest of your life:
The first time you came across Grapes of Wrath and the Scarlet Letter. How understood they made you feel.
That poem you wanted to submit to the paper anonymously so people wouldn’t be too worried about you.
The one English teacher’s vibe that made you cringe for the whole 44 minutes of the period.
That one chemistry teacher who always wore those button up shirts and made those corny jokes.
The time you felt like one teacher actually saw you as a person, not just a student.
The time he gave you some hope that tomorrow might be better.
That freshman camping trip you wished you didn’t have to go on. That time it was hard to have a chaperone who seemed to care about you. That time she asked how you’re holding up and actually want to know the answer. How foreign.
That cold fall day out in the woods when you turn down the offer for a blanket. I’ll be fine with just my hoodie, you’ll say. It’s from my dad, you know. But then you’ll wake up in the morning with one that was placed on you anyway. (Teenagers can be pretty stubborn, you know. But it’s your first time. Of course. You’re learning.)
That AP bio class with the professor who apparently ran a marathon yesterday. Wait, what? Why are you here? And how are you walking? He’ll just smile and laugh it off to continue the lecture. You’ll remember the time sitting in his class wondering whether you really want to be here anymore. Not in bio. Here meaning at all.
What school doesn’t teach you
They don’t give you those answers in school. They seem to think that’s not an important thing, to learn how to survive. How to just make it through. They assume we know. We don’t.
How to receive love when it feels so unnatural. How to heal. How to feel. How to communicate. How to be a human being, not doing. They don’t teach us that. They assume we get those lessons at home, I guess. But what about when the people at home don’t know either?
Searching for answers
They’ll want you to decide what you want to do before you’ve even figured out who you are.
There’s gonna be a lot of pressure on you, kid. Pressure to have all these answers. And you’re gonna spin your wheels trying to figure it out. You’re just trying to be a good kid. You might even blame yourself for not knowing the answers. Not being able to find them. There’s gotta be something wrong with me if I don’t know, right?
No, kiddo. There’s something wrong with the question. I know, it’s messed up. You’re in a system that isn’t really the best. It’s backwards in a lot of ways. It’ll teach you all the wrong things so you can get it out of your way and try to learn the right things on your own.
But some people have a hard time finding their way. I found Jesus. I found booze. I found drugs. I found the bus routes that would help me run far away. And I found other people who were just as lost. It took me a while to find the important answers.
Hang on.
I’m sorry kiddo. I wish I could’ve given you more of those answers when you really needed them. That time when life was walking on a tightrope with no safety cords. I’m coming back for you. I won’t leave you there, figuring this all out alone.
I’m sorry this is so tough. Just please. Please. Hang on. I know it seems like there’s no way out, and no way to make it through sometimes. No place to rest and catch your breath:
Not in your body–It’s changing too fast.
Not at home–they don’t understand.
Not in the hallways–they don’t accept you.
Not in class–those teachers look right past you.
Do whatever you need to do to stay alive. Play the same song a hundred times on repeat. Scribble in all the margins. Daydream as much as you need. Just hold on. We’re just trying to buy you some time for the storm to pass. Just hang on. Promise me you’ll hang on.
It will get better
And I promise you, kiddo, this will get better. You’ll make something beautiful out of this one day. Against all the odds, I survived it, and you will, too.
Find one highlight to hold onto from each day. It doesn’t matter how small. It doesn’t matter if it’s that one epic line from Steinbeck or the sauerkraut you’re glad they offered in the cafeteria today. Or the empty seat you found so you didn’t have to ask someone you don’t know. Just hold onto it. Just today. And then tomorrow, do the same.
Maybe you’ll find someone you connect with. And maybe you won’t realize there was a connection until ten years later, when you’ll make up for all the lost belly laughs and hours being silly talking about god knows what.
You’d be surprised how much you’re not alone. You just can’t see it right now. There’s other people with so much pain walking around with you through those halls. It’s just that no one teaches us how to talk about it. So we all think we’re alone. It’s such a sick secret. When hope and connection is just a desk away.
You might find some teachers you feel safe with. Stick with them. They think they’re teaching you science and math. But they’re really teaching you how it can be possible for an adult to make you feel safe and special and respected.
I’m so proud of you. Not for what you do, what you achieve, what you create. But for who you are. You’ve got the best smile, you know. And the best spirit. And you’ve got such a light in you. Such a light.
I love you.
- Jols
From the author:
I’m excited to release a project I’ve been working on for a long time. Starting September 1st, 2023 I’ll be sharing a story each day about a teacher that really left a lasting mark on me from my years in school. Thank you teachers for all that you do. You don’t realize it, but you are the emotional and spiritual triage, the safe place for so many kids, like you were for me. You’re not teaching textbooks. You’re teaching kids how it’s okay to be themselves. Thank you.