Tag Archives: childhood trauma

Some Healthy Adult Perspective

When I was in PreK, I said “damn” in class and my teacher, Mrs. Marx, washed my mouth out with soap. It was absolutely traumatizing and I will never forget the taste of those pearly pink generic-brand suds on my tongue.

I gagged. I cried. Pretty sure I puked. But more than anything, I was extremely embarrassed. I despised Mrs. Marx for the rest of the year.

Now that I am older, and have the experience of being both a teacher and a mom, I can look back and see with clear vision what Mrs. Marx was doing. She saw a reckless kid, and, rightfully so, it worried her. Kids need boundaries, and she wanted to create some for me. She knew I would have an easier time in life if I understood the consequences of my actions, took behavioral expectations seriously, and generally tried to fall in line with societal norms. She was trying desperately, in her own way, to help me.

So shout out to Mrs. Marx— now that I have matured and gained the wisdom of perspective, and am raising a PreK child of my own, I see exactly what you were doing, and you know what? IT DIDN’T FUCKING WORK YOU SICK TWISTED CUNT.

I Have Evolved

When I was in 6th grade, I got off the bus one day at my bus stop, and out of nowhere, a high school girl drove up next to me, got out of her car, and repeatedly punched me in the face. Literally for no reason.

I never found out who the girl was, but I spent years hoping and wishing that she got what was coming to her– namely, a miserable existence.

But now that I’m older, wiser, and have undergone years of therapy, I no longer hope she’s miserable.

Because misery can, for the most part, be treated and alleviated.

So I hope she’s ugly.

Like, painful-to-look-at ugly.

No amount of meds or therapy will help her out of THAT.


Fucking bitch.

The First Time I Saw A Grown Man’s Penis

Remember that first time you saw a grown man’s penis? Remember how the sight of it caught you COMPLETELY off guard? And remember how it wasn’t just one penis, it was about 25 penises at once? Mere inches from your face? Flopping around to a catchy, upbeat musical jam? And you were 10?

Oh, ok, so your mother DIDN’T take you to see the Broadway musical Hair when you were in 5th grade.

Well. Lucky you.