I had this professor in college. It was one of those classes that every major had to take even tho it wasn’t about math or English or anything of that nature, so no one took it seriously and half ass’d everything. My professor was an older lady, very strong in the catholic faith and, being in the heart of Dayton, people made fun of her for it.
Going into that class I really didn’t care either. She gave us super easy assignments, and you could use the book on the test, it was so easy you couldn’t fail unless you literally put no effort in.
Three weeks into the class she gave an assignment and it was called bags. You basically had to take two bags, one larger than the other, & write about yourself on them. On the larger bag, you wrote things that you wanted everyone to know about you. Things about your personality that make you proud. And on the inner bag(the smaller one) you wrote things you don’t want anyone to know, your innermost thoughts of yourself, your doubts and worries.
She gave us the option to not let her see our inner bag, and a majority of the class took that option. I, however, did not.
The second part was writing a paper about our bags. I told exactly why I felt those things(good and bad), and at the time I was in a deep depression. I had just left home, leaving my mom and sisters with a very abusive man, living with my boyfriend and his father who had too many issues to count and jealousy issues. I hadn’t been able to afford a hair brush and hadn’t brushed my hair in months, I wore clothes to small or way to big, I had barely been able to afford my school supplies and was barely making it to class. I was working a third shift job on weekends, and going to school full time during the week. My then boyfriend was so possessive and very controlling, my only time of freedom and a choice to do what I wanted was at school. I let all of this out, maybe as a cry for help, I’m not even sure.
She wrote so many notes on my paper, that I cried in the middle of class when she gave it back. For the first time in months, I felt worth it. I was worth her time. Looking around at others, and there paper simple had the grade, and corrections, and mine was covered in red ink. In notes, not corrections. She told me that she’d keep an eye out in the magazines for me, & to distance myself from anyone who made me feel worthless.
Three years later, here I am. I’m not in the magazines, I didn’t finish my degree, I don’t associate with anyone who makes me feel bad about myself, I brush my hair, I’m in a very healthy happy relationship. I owe this all to her, Elissa DeBarone, and I’d give anything to thank her. She makes me feel like I can be anything I want to be, so I’m going back to school
and I’d like to thank anyone who read this. I’m sorry it’s boring