Written by Aeowynn Ayres 

Art by Simone Lerner 

In all of my eighteen years of life, Catholic school was, without a doubt, the worst thing to ever happen to me. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am immensely grateful that I had the privilege to get a private school education. I recognize that most people do not get that opportunity. I am forever indebted to my parents for giving me the chance to enhance my academic career. The education I received is not what I’m talking about here. What I am talking about though, is the social culture that is found inside of Catholic schools from both students and faculty. 

Many private Catholic schools are K-12 and have around 60-80 students per grade level, which means that you’re going to school with the same handful of kids for ten years. 

Eight hours a day. 

Five days a week. 

For ten years. 

After about third grade, friend groups start to solidify and your role on the social food chain is set in stone for the rest of your academic life. It sounds so dramatic because it is so dramatic.

Puberty is a vulnerable time for every kid, and growing up with a bunch of tone-deaf, rich, white kids really affected my identity development. I wanted to be liked so desperately, but I never quite fit into the stereotypical private school girl cliche. Private schools emphasize both academic and athletic life; in my elementary/middle school years, you absolutely had to play soccer or your chances of being popular were smaller than the size of the Communion wafers. I preferred reading and focusing on my academics, but I also had low self-esteem when I was a preteen and yearned to be validated by the popular girls of my grade. I wasn’t traditionally pretty by any means, so taking up soccer was my only option for social recognition. I grew to love the sport, but in the earlier years, I felt like I was blindly committing to a comedy bit that I wanted no part in. 

No matter how hard I strived for social acceptance, I knew that the girls I called my friends were far from it. I got bullied for everything possible; my weight, my acne, my financial status—the whole nine yards. They would make plans in front of me and leave me out of them, make fun of what I wore on out-of-uniform days, and cringe at the food I ate for lunch. No matter what I did, I could not get these girls to accept me. That was when I learned that private school girls were a different breed of mean.

Racism and homophobia also ran rampant in my classrooms. Most teachers taught with a close-minded religious perspective, so my classmates often said racial slurs and offensive phrases about non-catholic religions without any repercussions. The Catholic church is very adamant in its opposition of gay rights, and that was expressed in all of my classes, even if sexuality had nothing to do with the course. It was a common occurance to have teachers go on anti-gay tangents in the middle of science or math class, and students would join in without any opposition. The idea that “being gay was wrong” was beaten into me so aggressively that I couldn’t come to terms with my own sexuality until years later. 

Catholic school culture is structured to kill creativity and individuality. Aside from the obvious originality killer that is the private school uniform, institutions actively take precautions to limit character distinction. At my elementary and middle schools–which were coincidentally on the same campus–students weren’t allowed to have any type of nail polish on, girls could only wear headbands or have hair ties that were the school’s colors, and could only have one hole in each of their ears pierced. I would get detention if I wore white Nike socks instead of white socks without any logos, or if I forgot to visit a teacher after class. 

My most memorable detention visit was in my eighth grade year. I was thirteen and it was picture day. I was so excited to get my picture taken in my cap and gown, and because I was a teenage girl, I decided to put on some light makeup. At that time, light makeup would have been defined as drugstore mascara and concealer, and maybe if I was feeling ambitious, some brown eyeshadow. My Chromebook had died halfway through my English class, and I went to the classroom next door to retrieve a replacement. The classroom belonged to my Spanish teacher. 

I asked her if I could borrow a laptop for the remainder of the period, and she replied with “Why do you have makeup on?”

I told her that it was picture day, and that my makeup wasn’t noticeable enough to where it should cause any issues. I got detention anyway. 

At my school, students were required to sit in detention for an hour, but weren’t allowed to actually do anything productive in that time, so detention consisted of me sitting in an empty classroom with a faculty adviser making sure I didn’t pull out my phone or start homework. 

I went to a different–but still private and Catholic–school for high school, and it was a bit more lenient, but just barely. I guess God realized that by high school, nail polish colors and the amount of piercings a girl has are the least of his worries. Boys still weren’t allowed to have any type of piercings, which is so completely sexist and outdated, but girls were allowed to have piercings as long as they weren’t on the face. We would routinely have what the school dubbed “skirt checks,” which were unannounced inspections to make sure our skirts were exactly three inches above the knee.  

These events are what I remember from that period of my life, but what I remember most is that it’s behind me now. High school ended just as it did for everyone else, and I am a completely different person now that I have left Catholic school behind, and I’m so much better for it. I have bright pink hair, visible tattoos, and I kiss lots of girls, all of which would’ve had me exiled from my previous institutions, making them that much cooler. I guess what I’m trying to say is that no matter how hard private schools try to kill individuality in our youth, it will always backfire.