From the period from 10 years old to 13 years old, I was a victim of teasing at school.  I was subjected to quite a lot of name-calling.  Because I did really well academically, I was inevitably called a “nerd” or a “geek”.  Because I wore glasses I was called “Bennie Boekwurm” (Afrikaans children’s TV character – Bennie, the Bookworm) or “Ouvrou” (Afrikaans for Old Lady).  Because my surname is foreign, rather than learning to pronounce it they called me “Mascovie Duck”.  Even a teacher resorted to name-calling rather than learning my surname and he called me “Nokstokkies”.  He did so in front of the rest of the class, and in doing so condoned the other children’s behaviour.

I never showed that I was hurt, instead I laughed along like it was water off a mascovie duck’s back.  I was a tough girl and I wasn’t going to let people’s words affect me.  I took the names and packed them away deep inside me in a small corner of my heart.  But, what I didn’t realise was that no matter how deep you bury something it can still impact you.  And the teasing changed me dramatically.  My vibrant, fearless, bullet-proof inner 6 year-old was somehow buried beneath those cruel names; and with no air or light in which to grow she was silenced.

My family moved town just before I started high school.  A new town, new school and new people – this presented an opportunity to reinvent myself.  I became a master at not being noticed.  My grades dropped; just enough to not be seen as clever but not enough to affect my university entrance.  I never did anything that drew attention to me.  I carefully copied what other kids were doing so that I wouldn’t stand out.  I became invisible.  If I wasn’t seen I couldn’t be rejected.

Entering university, in the pursuit of fitting in, I had a debaucherous first year; which regrettably my academics never recovered from.  As a young adult, my fear of being rejected made me painfully shy which hampered my ability to engage in relationships.  When I finally met someone with whom I had a serious relationship, I married him.  I think the fear of being alone motivated me to attach myself and not let go.  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t settling when I married him – he was attractive, intelligent, kind and we had a lot in common.  There was genuine love.  But fear did not allow me to let go and explore the world more before setting up house with him.

Every decision in my life revolved around what others may think – my need to be accepted was so strong that I adjusted my entire behaviour and personality to what I thought was likeable.  I even fooled myself.  I really believed that the person I presented to the world was real.  As a result I struggled to properly connect with people – most of my relationships were superficial.  But when it all crashed down in 2013 I had an identity crisis – who the hell was I – I didn’t know the answer.