Over the weekend the majority of schools around the country officially ended. Relieved children hopeful for a summer filled with sun, excitement and fun; scared seniors walked across the stage and received their consolation prizes (a.k.a. diplomas) for enduring their most uncomfortable years alongside their classmates.

As my small alma mater in the Adirondacks celebrated another school year completed, I could not help but feel a little nostalgic and think about my most awkward 12 years of childhood and young adulthood. I had a decent experience throughout my school years, with many friends and good memories. My grades were fine, I got along with most of my classmates, I played some sports (not always very well) and I made some strong friendships that will last my entire life.

I do look back at what seemed to be the most important years of my life and wish I could have changed a few things and certain situations, but I really don’t dwell on those “should haves” too often.

Except for the one instance of regret that I wish had turned out very differently.

My brother and I were sharing some stories of our differing high school experiences, (he challenged authority and questioned the system, I was quiet and played by the rules) and we got on the topic of annoying classmates, bullies and teachers that made an impact on our lives, both positive and negative.

Even though our experiences and attitudes in high school were polar opposites, my brother and I shared the same view on a topic not too many people like to acknowledge within the education system, which is, bullying, but in a different form than we are used to hearing.

I understand bullying has been on the radar and that every case is different. I am not taking away from the severity of these cases, especially situations in which being bullied affected a person in some way that still haunts them years later.

My particular experience didn’t come from a classmate or anyone close to my age. I was tormented by a teacher, who enjoyed crushing a 10-year-old’s self-esteem because of her own insecurities and clear need to use her position of power to feel important. And, probably because my brother set my own future with this teacher because of his reputation for rebellion. (Thanks, Kaleb.)

I feel my only real regret in junior and senior high school was the entire year of seventh grade English.

I see how those circumstances with one person had set my confidence to a drastically low level and how I began to doubt myself every step of the way. Not only was I transitioning into a new school setting (our high school included grades seven through 12), but I was also thrown into the pit of teenage angst, along with my peers.

Add in an educator within a fairly corrupt education system, with a vendetta against my own family members, and I was basically doomed from the start.

I had never had an issue with the subjects of English and Literature before seventh grade. I loved to read and was simply fascinated with words and how they could make people see the story without showing physical pictures, just descriptions.

I still continued my love to read, but I gave up on any dream to become an author in the future. Writing was what I wanted to do when I grew up, but once I was told I was “too stupid” for a more advanced-level English class, I thought that meant any creative writing I tried to do in the future would also be “too stupid”.

Throughout the rest of my seventh-grade year, I became anxious and fearful of doing the wrong thing in class. My every move was watched and analyzed, making me terrified to speak up in class if I had a question or comment on the lesson. My papers and book reports would come back with red marks littering the page because my handwriting was sloppier than typical, “girly”, handwriting, making our teacher believe I was misspelling words. Every minuscule mistake was picked apart and turned into a point or letter deduction.

Sometimes the condescending question marks and red slashes were not enough to satisfy the teacher’s need to humiliate, so verbal tactics were put into play, making me feel singled out and humiliated in front of my classmates.

Eventually, I just stopped talking in that class because I was afraid I would be interrogated over the smallest issues. Most of the time, the issue at hand was completely fabricated by the teacher just to force the attention back to me so that I would feel embarrassed and uncomfortable.

One instance I remember well was sitting in my chair, slightly turned to the side so that I could stretch out my legs. I was silently reading, as instructed until our teacher interrupted the class to raise her voice and question why I was talking during a quiet reading.

I wasn’t talking or doing anything disruptive, at all, but she insisted I was doing something out of line and forced me to sit at a desk directly in front of her's so I could be watched.

This spot was my new seat for the entire year.

One day after class she announced she needed to speak with me. Stuck alone with this horrible person, I was questioned why I was in the “Advanced Regents” English class, how I could have been overlooked and placed at a level too high for my comprehension and asked if I was always a disrespectful rule-breaker?

I didn’t quite understand what I had done to make this grown woman hate a 10-year-old she had never actually met before.

Once she was done picking apart my entire existence, I walked out of the room, having not spoken a word, and ran across the hall to a classroom that my mother occupied as a teaching assistant.

Yes, that awful teacher had no problem treating me like a total delinquent just a few steps away from my mom. Obviously, my mom marched right across the hall to express her disgust, even though neither of us wanted her to do so.

However, I was tired of just taking the insults and psychological mind games that I could never win, and I am not ashamed to admit that I let my mother fight this battle for me.

No other adult would help me out, and my mom had been just as fed up. I tried bringing up the issues again and again with the administration, but it was clear very early on that I had to take the abuse and just learn how to deal with it...for the entire year.

I understand that I sound weak to some people, or maybe I was wrong somehow and deserved the bullying, but talking about how much this educator, whom I was supposed to trust, treated my brother, myself and countless other students made me think about just how awful I felt enduring that bullshit on a daily basis.

This time the bully wasn’t a kid who insulted me or took things that belonged to me. This wasn’t an issue that could have been solved by calling the parents and working out a half-assed apology from the bully.

This was an adult who should have known better than to treat people like lesser beings and who was in a position of semi-authority in order to guide and teach young students.

Instead, she used her power to instill fear and doubt in children, and she was not the only teacher in that tiny school to do so.

Bullying is such a sensitive topic no matter the situation, but it is rare we hear about the bully being in front of the class pushing their own personal agenda and getting a power-hungry high from terrorizing kids.

The reason I regret my own situation, that happened 15 years ago, is because I see who I am now, compared to then. I see how I stand up for myself when I am sick of being underestimated, disrespected and tossed aside, and I like this stronger person so much better than the silent, scared seventh-grader running to her mother to fight her battles.

I look back at my desire to please people over being treated like an actual human being and feel like I missed opportunities to make real differences if I had just stood up for myself early on.

But, I also acknowledge that I am much different from the shy, quiet girl who did what she was told and did her best not to offend anyone.

I look at the issues of bullying our society continues to bring up, but I am afraid of the kids who graduated this year thinking they had no great future ahead of them because someone within the education system convinced them that they were incapable of greatness.

I look at the school system in my small town and just can’t help but feel sorry for the students that came out of their graduation day feeling like a nobody because the adults were too focused on politics and rigidity to actually make a decent impact on their students.

I can count a total of 10 teachers throughout my entire childhood education that really listened, helped and genuinely cared about the students they stood in front of. I am so grateful to those teachers, even to this day. Without them, I wouldn’t have gained that part of my self-esteem I lost from being pushed around by an adult who should know better.

But, I guess, I also have that seventh-grade teacher to thank.

Without her, I wouldn’t have known what triumph feels like.

I wouldn’t have known that standing up, even after being beaten down, would make me feel stronger instead of weaker.

So, here’s to you. Without your incessant nitpicking and condescending attitude, I feel much more accomplished knowing that I was able to learn and grow, and you are, most likely, just as miserable as you were 15 years ago.

In spite of you and the other authoritarians of high school, your students don’t owe an ounce of their success to you or your lack of support.

Congratulations to all of the classes of 2017; now go out and prove the skeptics wrong because I promise your successes will taste that much sweeter.