The Hard Lessons I Learned from Being Bullied in School



The final week I spent in my childhood home was surreal to say the least. I knew we were moving soon, but for an eight year old going on nine, seeing all my toys piled up in the corner of the room that my younger sister and I shared made it official.

We were moving to a better neighborhood and a bigger house, but that didn’t matter to me. Our small, 900-square-feet home in Oak Park, Michigan was (and still is) the symbol of my childhood. It’s where I learned to walk, talk and ride my bike. How could my parents expect us to leave and start over someplace else? But of course, there was no changing their minds.

On the big day, my sister and I spent the last couple of minutes sitting in the back of a red pickup truck that our parents borrowed for the move, watching as they carried out the last few boxes. I remember flipping through my Britney Spears: Backstage Pass book — it was mid-July of 2000 and teen pop was inescapable — to pass the time. Before driving away, I caught one last glimpse of our beloved home since I didn’t know if and when I’d be able to see it again.

Read the rest of my personal essay at [].

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