By
Emma Gold
5 min read
By
Emma Gold
When I was four years old, I managed to secure myself a place at one of the most prestigious schools in London. They said something to my parents about how they thought I had "a real spark" I left the interview room and said: "I don't think I'll go to that school; I didn't like it"
I was four.
Nevertheless, a few months passed and I strolled to the school in my navy pinafore, yellow turtleneck and bob-cut, golden hair. However, just as the polish on my shoes began to fade, I started to fall behind. My reports began to say things such as: "Great at socialising, shares her toys, but gets easily distracted". Sure, I was a kid, I was easily distracted by the buzzing of the bee that had entered through the back left window or what colour pen I would use for my next equation. But, after my having significantly "fallen behind", my parents were called in.
When my parents recount this meeting they speak of how they stayed up all night practising what to say to my headmistress. They took a seat, like school-children themselves in front of their teacher, in a cold corner office with frosty windows, one winter afternoon in Hampstead.
"I'm afraid she just lacks confidence… I just feel as though she is falling behind, she clearly can't keep up."
This was the first time I was doubted by a teacher, but it most certainly was not the last. My dyslexia was mistaken for stupidity and my creative mindset dismissed for nothing more than simply being "easily distracted".
When I look back on my time at this school, it becomes clear to me that there were very few who saw my potential. At my first school, the only teacher I remember as really being able to recognise my ability was Miss Joyce, the reception assistant.
Unfortunately, my second school wasn't much better. Again, my dyslexia meant that I quickly fell behind in subjects like chemistry and physics. Once again, teachers criticised my ability to define the chemical elements and inability to find x. A grade C in geography, a D in maths, two Ds in science, meant that I would never make anything of myself, turning a blind eye to the As in English and art. Again, looking back at my time at this school there is only one teacher who really stands out to me. My year 5 teacher, Mrs Casson.
I thank her for encouraging my ability to laugh and dance and write creatively, for really seeing my true abilities and not judging me simply my academic achievements. On behalf of my mum, I'd like to thank her for the warm smile that contrasted with the cold glares from other teachers when she walked me to the classroom, distressed because I had become such a stressed and anxious child.
Even so, from the ages of 11 to 18 I roamed the hallways of my high school, Immanuel, never feeling as if I wasn't good enough. Instead of criticism when things weren't going right, they applauded things that were. Instead of feeling that my headmaster barely knew anything about me, I was questioned every time we passed each other in the hallway about how my day was, how my brother's latest venture was and if my parents were well.
My final school never pushed maths and science as the only important knowledge but allowed students to flourish at what they were good at. Soon enough, I made the decision to study art history after having been inspired by my hilariously quirky teacher Mr Hedge, encouraged in my love of art by Miss Ribeiro and Mrs Ardeman and in my admiration for Chaucer by Mr Spitz's English lessons. However, there was still some discouragement: "Don't apply there, you won't get in because your science GCSE result is too low"
Once again, this ignored the fact I had received high grades in my AS Levels in English, art and history of art. Instead, I was once again being told "no".
I couldn't do maths age four, I couldn't work out Pythagoras's theorem at 12 and now, aged 18, I was told I couldn't apply to the university of my dreams.
However, after a long discussion, I decided to go against this advice and apply anyway and, I'm happy to say, I'm glad I did so. On Wednesday, I graduated from the University of Birmingham with a 2:1 BA and honours in history of art.
So here's what this article is really about. It's a springboard for me to educate myself; to never listen to other people and go with my gut feeling. It's a look back at some of the hardest and most difficult days of my life, days where I quite frankly was made to feel stupid for having a creative mindset. For the days I was written off as nothing more than "a distraction", for being labelled "lazy" or "disinterested".
And, before I conclude, I want to say a thank you to the teachers who told me I couldn't. Thank you for making me realise that I absolutely could. Thank you for teaching me not to listen to your discouraging opinions. Thank you for trying to put me in a category and failing to do so. Thank you for allowing me to prove you all wrong.
Sometimes in life you feel pressured to follow a certain path, to behave in a certain way and be good at a certain thing but, after having experienced this pretty much my whole life, my advice would be to ignore it, you can't judge a fish based on it's ability to climb a tree. Everyone is different, with different aims and passions.
Undoubtedly, it was hard to grow up in a school environment so obsessed with the scientific to the detriment of the arts and being labelled "not good enough" but, if anything, that only made my passion for creativity thrive. Don't let people who have no idea of your capabilities deter you from your own future.
Finally, and on a more positive note, I'd like to finish this by saying thank you to a teacher whose words will stay with me for ever.
Mrs Isenberg: in every challenge I have faced in the five years since we last saw each other, I have closed my eyes and transported myself back to the morning of my biology GCSE . Crying hysterically, knowing I was bound to fail, you sat me down and told me this.
"You're going to go into that exam room today, and you're going to fail that exam. And when you do, we're going to throw a 'you failed your exam' party because, at the end of the day, you strive at things you are good at and your ability to sparkle isn't determined by a Biology GCSE question."
Not only were you an incredible English teacher, your ability to cheer me up in any situation regardless of what was going on in your life is a trait I so admired, and one I have tried to adopt myself.
I was young and naive for thinking that a science GCSE would change my life, my goals and my career. But your advice to focus on what I was good at and not care about anything else is the reason I got my degree. So here's to you, Mrs Isenberg, a toast, to my 2:1 and to having a party for failing science.
@emsyg123