Dear Professor,

You hurt me. That evening after class, when you were calling me aside to tell me how badly I was screwing up in class, hurt me deeply. And that conversation was almost a year ago. The words that hurt the most were “I’m not sure you can do it” as we talked about what my future in the education program at my college would be like.

During the fall I was going through a really tough patch in which I thought I could do it all -- be on student senate, work 20 hours a week at the daycare in my neighborhood, do my fieldwork hours, write for the student body newspaper and get good grades in school. Turns out I can’t possibly do all of those things to the quality that I would like as just one person. And I recognized that I was doing too much for one person. I didn’t do anything about it in time, but I realized that I had made a mistake. I just didn’t know how to get myself out of that rut of obligations.

This is not a letter to explain myself and why I am the victim in this situation -- because I know that I brought this situation on myself and you know exactly what I did because I told you. This is a letter to express my hurt and my anger at the words you said to me. I want to tell you why you’re wrong and why I’m still hurting months after we last spoke in person.

I have wanted to be a teacher for as long as I can remember. My mom even found a drawing from kindergarten or first grade that said I want to be a teacher when I grow up. When I was at daycare, I would get the younger kids to come and be my students while I was their teacher. I don’t remember what I taught and I assume that my lessons were pretty crappy, but I really liked being a teacher in my imagination. So when it came time to pick a college and figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, I chose to study English secondary education.

Through volunteer experience and work experience, I discovered that teaching was something that I really loved and that sometimes I was good at it. I knew that I was passionate about teaching and education and that I wanted to do nothing else for work. But after our conversation, every time I have been in a position to teach young people, I have this whisper of doubt as your words repeat themselves in the back of my mind. What a toxic way to go through life, being so affected by someone’s words that suddenly the magic is taken out of your passion and you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

I’m angry at you because you took that magic away. I’m angry at you because even though I killed it on the second half of the semester and even though I was accepted to a job that allows me to teach this summer, my confidence has not been rebuilt, and I am still walking on eggshells. I am angry because as a teacher, regardless of how you really think of me, I don’t think you should be able to say that you’re not sure I can get through student teaching and do well with the everyday rigors of being a teacher. You are not me and even though I told you what was going on and why I was struggling in class (even though I told you too late), you still don’t know my full situation. You do not have a right to tell me I can’t do something. I will prove you wrong every time. I think you showed despicable behavior as a secondary teacher yourself.

Thank you for lighting a fire under me, so to speak, and making me get my life in relative order. I just wish that you had said it in a way that wouldn’t continue to haunt and hurt me.

Sincerely,