Psychology - Discrimination
We’re learning about discrimination in Psychology, and how there are all different ways to discriminate and different types and levels and so on.
Last lesson we were given a bit of scrap paper to write down two examples of where we had seen discrimination or if we had ever been discriminated against. They were collected and given to one group to collate. This lesson, they read them out, about where people had seen discrimination against smokers and against people of different colours, and the last one was about discrimination against overweight people. The class was silent, listening to everything being read out; ‘My grandfather stopped me after school one day to tell me I needed to lose weight because boys didn’t like fat girls.’ Every single person in the class, collectively, just gasped. It seemed to echo; even the teacher was shocked. A friend sitting next to me said, ‘I hope that didn’t really happen,’ in the silent classroom, and I tried to keep my face blank. I wondered if Ms. Baker could see it in my eyes. I think somehow I hoped that she could...that maybe she could see I wanted her to hold me back after class and ask if I needed some help. I’d appreciate that.
It broke me, that moment. Cut me down and made me so small I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Society says I should love my Pop, but I don’t. I don’t even like him. I tolerate him, because I have his blood in me and I need to tolerate him, for the sake of my family. But he’s an old fool. I suppose you could say he is set in his ways, but it doesn’t make it any less hurtful when he says things.
It was a nice day. I remember that. I’d walked home from school to Nan’s in Year Eight. I was thirteen, probably the most insecure kid you’ll ever meet; I didn’t make eye contact, I shied away from people, I kept my head down and my mouth shut because I did work and I liked school. And the other kids didn’t like that. They never have. I got to the back door where Pop was doing work outside, and he came up to me before I had a chance to go inside, and he launched straight into it. I’m fat. I shouldn’t be this fat at this age, or ever. It wasn’t healthy. Did I want to end up like my Auntie Sandra, obese? I needed to lose weight or I would never get a boyfriend, because “boys don’t like fat girls.” Those words have stuck with me for what will soon be five years. I nodded, and then he let me inside.
That night I cried myself to sleep. When I was younger I hated my body. I would pull my hair back because I didn’t know what to do with it, and I would dress plainly and cover myself up. I didn’t like when people touched me. I hated looking in the mirror - the old cliché - because I hated what I saw. I didn’t see myself as a girl, or a boy. I didn’t look on the outside how I felt on the inside. I didn’t have a gender on the inside. I knew I was supposed to be a girl, but I didn’t want to be. Now that I’m older and have grown into myself, I understand my femininity and I appreciate my body for what it is. I like it. I like my hands and my feet and my breasts and my thighs and my belly and my neck and my face and my ankles and there are moments, yes, when I hate it, moments everyone has, but I know there is nothing to be done about it. I am working to change myself, become better, and that takes time. But it’s time I have.
And though I’m okay, and though I have my moments where things don’t look very good, I’d still like Ms. Baker to say, ‘Hey. Are you alright?’ Because I think she’d understand if I spoke to her. And I think I could cry, and it would be okay.
I’ll be okay.
Last lesson we were given a bit of scrap paper to write down two examples of where we had seen discrimination or if we had ever been discriminated against. They were collected and given to one group to collate. This lesson, they read them out, about where people had seen discrimination against smokers and against people of different colours, and the last one was about discrimination against overweight people. The class was silent, listening to everything being read out; ‘My grandfather stopped me after school one day to tell me I needed to lose weight because boys didn’t like fat girls.’ Every single person in the class, collectively, just gasped. It seemed to echo; even the teacher was shocked. A friend sitting next to me said, ‘I hope that didn’t really happen,’ in the silent classroom, and I tried to keep my face blank. I wondered if Ms. Baker could see it in my eyes. I think somehow I hoped that she could...that maybe she could see I wanted her to hold me back after class and ask if I needed some help. I’d appreciate that.
It broke me, that moment. Cut me down and made me so small I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Society says I should love my Pop, but I don’t. I don’t even like him. I tolerate him, because I have his blood in me and I need to tolerate him, for the sake of my family. But he’s an old fool. I suppose you could say he is set in his ways, but it doesn’t make it any less hurtful when he says things.
It was a nice day. I remember that. I’d walked home from school to Nan’s in Year Eight. I was thirteen, probably the most insecure kid you’ll ever meet; I didn’t make eye contact, I shied away from people, I kept my head down and my mouth shut because I did work and I liked school. And the other kids didn’t like that. They never have. I got to the back door where Pop was doing work outside, and he came up to me before I had a chance to go inside, and he launched straight into it. I’m fat. I shouldn’t be this fat at this age, or ever. It wasn’t healthy. Did I want to end up like my Auntie Sandra, obese? I needed to lose weight or I would never get a boyfriend, because “boys don’t like fat girls.” Those words have stuck with me for what will soon be five years. I nodded, and then he let me inside.
That night I cried myself to sleep. When I was younger I hated my body. I would pull my hair back because I didn’t know what to do with it, and I would dress plainly and cover myself up. I didn’t like when people touched me. I hated looking in the mirror - the old cliché - because I hated what I saw. I didn’t see myself as a girl, or a boy. I didn’t look on the outside how I felt on the inside. I didn’t have a gender on the inside. I knew I was supposed to be a girl, but I didn’t want to be. Now that I’m older and have grown into myself, I understand my femininity and I appreciate my body for what it is. I like it. I like my hands and my feet and my breasts and my thighs and my belly and my neck and my face and my ankles and there are moments, yes, when I hate it, moments everyone has, but I know there is nothing to be done about it. I am working to change myself, become better, and that takes time. But it’s time I have.
And though I’m okay, and though I have my moments where things don’t look very good, I’d still like Ms. Baker to say, ‘Hey. Are you alright?’ Because I think she’d understand if I spoke to her. And I think I could cry, and it would be okay.
I’ll be okay.