"Where did you go to school?"

That was the dreaded question I faced for roughly 13 years because every time someone asked, I had to figure out a new way to paste a bright smile on my face and reply, "I was actually homeschooled!"

Cue the shocked expressions, the judgmental looks in their eyes and the almost hushed responses of, "How were you socialized?" or my personal favorite, "But, you're so normal."

To eliminate a few stereotypes of homeschooling from the get-go, my mom was, in fact, my teacher for a good portion of elementary, middle and high school. I did not get to sleep in until whenever I wanted, nor was I able to choose the grades I wanted or the school subjects I wanted to take. I actually was allowed out of the house on a fairly regular basis, and the majority of my friends growing up were public-schooled.

I dressed normally, I acted normally and for all intents and purposes, I was a very developmentally adequate child and perfectly capable young woman, despite my homeschooling background.

Not to say that some of the stereotypes about homeschooling are not true. It probably helped that my mother had a teaching credential and several years of elementary school teaching under her belt.

It probably also helped that she explored all avenues of curriculum for my older sister and me, including co-ops with other homeschoolers, satellite and online courses and community college classes.

I was also involved with extra-curricular activities like speech and debate, dance, gymnastics, church groups, choir, etc.

But growing up, nothing hurt worse than the crushing realization that my peers thought less of me because of my unfortunately stereotyped background, even though it was such an integral part in making me the person I am today.

Even as I struggled through the proverbial awkward phase of childhood, I knew that on top of people judging me for my clothes, my hair, my likes, my dislikes – my schooling was just going to be another nail in the social coffin that adolescence can be.

I was ashamed I did not grow up "normally" like other kids my age. When the question came up of where I attended school, no amount of blushing or mumbling could hide that shame.

I felt like the first few weeks of knowing someone – anyone – was a constant uphill battle to prove that I was worth getting to know, not just the oddball kid that did not share the same experiences as everyone else her age in the small town she grew up in.

Some friends seemed to think I was the lucky one to escape the stereotypes, and that I turned out "so normal." Others completely forgot the fact that I did not go to grade school with them, or to eighth grade graduation or to prom.

When I was 18-years-old, I moved six hours away from home and started attending college in a place where I knew only one person. I was excited not only to start the next chapter of my life, but to also start it in a place where no one knew me and therefore would not ask me where I did or did not go to school because they probably had never even heard of the small town I was from.

I was wrong. People still asked. The difference, though? Nobody cared.

See, here is the thing about college and growing up: young adults pursuing higher education come from all different parts of the country, even the world. They make the choice to leave home and start new lives in places that could be hundreds or thousands of miles away from what they have known their whole lives.

There are “homeschoolers.” There are “private-schoolers.” There are “public-schoolers.”

There are different genders, nationalities, cultures and religions, and the one universal characteristic that unites them all is that nobody really cares whether your education was at a desk or your mom’s kitchen table.

Now in my senior year of college, I sometimes reflect on the 13 years I spent ashamed and embarrassed of my different upbringing. At 16-years-old, I already had enough to worry about without the added (sometimes completely irrational) fear that somebody was going to judge me for never having gone to a homecoming, or even knowing what homecoming was.

My parents worked hard to give me an amazing opportunity, creating the building blocks for my character. Something I wholly appreciate and will never regret.

I am strong. I am smart. I am confident.

Now, when people ask where I went to school, I laugh and answer honestly. “Actually, I was homeschooled.” And these days, the shocked expressions and judgmental looks get fewer and farther between because frankly, there are bigger fish to fry.

So if you were in my situation and you were brought up differently, or have a fear of explaining to others why the “normal” you were used to does not fit their definition, don’t sweat it. Take a deep breath, paste a bright smile on your face and realize everyone has a story to tell. You should never feel ashamed of yours.