Tale of a Left Handed Lady

Every year, the third grade class at my school would take a field-trip to the charming Honey Creek School, about 30 minutes away. My older sister, Kate, told me and my younger sister, Kenzie, all about the excursion. We would watch as Kate and the “older kids” got to go, aching for our time. The hype. was. real.

The Honey Creek School is a single-room schoolhouse (+ outhouse!) that’s historically preserved by the Monroe County School Corporation. It was built the ‘20s, functional until the ‘40s, restored and listed on the National Register of Historic Places in the late ‘70s. It now serves as an educational-adventure-destination for local schools.

The students are usually welcomed to dress the part for the day—and I went to a Catholic school with strict a dress-code, so any excuse to get out of the knee-length plaid skirts and polo shirts was a big dealio.

(Not me) Pic for visualization of Honey Creek + its eager students from 2015! Source: Mrs. Wrights 4th Grade Class

I distinctly remember my third grade teacher, Mrs. Riggins, sharing with the class that the left-handed kids should be wary because writing with your left hand was viewed as a sign of the devil, or something like that ;). And since we were going back in time for a day, the notorious dunce cap would be subjected to a left-handed writer. There were (maybe) three left-handed kids in the class, myself included.

My little brain was anxiety-ridden from the time she shared the warning to the time when the Honey Creek Teacher (I’ll call her HCT, I don’t remember her name) brought out the cone-of-shame; it was probably a few days (or weeks, who knows, what is time when you’re a kid) that passed. I thought about it before going to sleep. It would creep into my mind while doing things with my left hand (so, like, everything). I was dreading the possibility of having to wear a pretend dunce cap. I don’t know about you, but something about glorified shaming makes me squirm in my seat. And in front of peers, to boot!

Whenever HCT would walk around while we were “working,” I would switch my pencil from being in my right hand to being in my left. I thought that I could hide it well enough for her not to notice and I wouldn’t have to be ridiculed in front of the class.

HCT either brought out the cone or was leading in that direction with what she was saying…I knew it was coming. My heart rate went up. My palms clammed up. I kept thinking “please no…not me not me not me.”

And then…

“NICOLE…” A huge sigh of utter relief. Sorry, Nicole, but also thank the lord herself that it wasn’t me.

Some time passed, maybe a few weeks, again, not sure how long because my memory could be completely deceiving me on timeline here, and I was told that the dunce-wearer was PRE-SELECTED. Mrs. Riggins chose a lefty and sent it to HCT.

Aye aye aye, ya bastards!

—

I’ve always had anxiety. Ever since I was a kid, clearly. I’ve thought about this story many times. I’m not sure why this particular memory stays faded in my mind like semi-erased chalk on a blackboard, but it does. And I’ve reflected on it.

My conclusion: it’s natural to have internal narration of fear and anxiety of a situations that haven’t occurred (and may never will) or are in the past and lingering anxiety continues to prevail. This can go for just about anything in life. Fear of judgement, ridicule, lack of safety, failure that has yet to “inevitably” come. And of course, there’s also the anxiety of something that will actually happen. The build up mixed with the unknown—that time and space between thought and event—is one poisonous and common phenomenon.

I don’t know concrete shit about psychology, but I do know that there is a stigma grasp around anxiety. And depression, we’ll throw that in there as things I don’t know much about but battle with myself.

We’ve been told that having anxiety is bad. Or that it’s not something that’s to be discussed. Mental health (or more specifically, mental illness) shouldn’t be something you put a cone of shame on. It should be discussed as normally as it actually occurs, which is all the time, to millions of people.

Showing support, sharing experiences, and simply listening are just a few ways to reshape how we all look at mental health.

And with that, I’m signing off (literally and figuratively) with my left hand!

–HMC