The Hidden Pain Behind Early School Years

“The average high school kid today has the same level of anxiety as the average psychiatric patient in the 1950s.”)” - Scott Stossel, My Age of Anxiety: Fear, Hope, Dread, and the Search for Peace of Mind

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School has already started.

Every year, it brings many memories or triggers that I have only started to recognize after therapy.

Obviously, for many, learning comes easily. They acquire everything needed with playful ease. It is very important that parents, classmates, teachers, and instructors all approach those who find it harder to hold a pen or focus with humanity, love, and extra care.

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I always share my story in the first weeks of school

I was told many times, in a sort of obsessive manner, ‘Pay better attention, write neater.’ I could feel the anxiety seeping through. I remember the feeling of gripping the pencil, trying to shape the letters, none of them coming out right. The pencil felt like it was made of iron, pulling my hand; my whole arm, shoulder, and spine hurt. Why did it have to feel like punishment?

I couldn’t read either, at least not in first grade. I didn’t understand the letters and how they shaped words together. I could read the words, but they lost meaning on the way to forming sentences. Instead, I learned the readings by heart, listening, and when it was my turn, I would just trace the words with my finger on the page and recite them by heart.

The first two years of school were pure suffering. I was terrified of getting a smack on the hand and of others finding out. Then, one day, I was so afraid that I wouldn’t manage, so tortured trying to somehow learn to read, that something reprogrammed in my brain. Everyone had high expectations of me, the pressure was huge, and yet my superanxiety somehow dulled in the process. Something changed.

I started to see and understand whole paragraphs at once. Backwards from there, I somehow miraculously found the words and letters. It was like finding and opening a treasure chest, a new universe I could access to. From then on, I devoured books. They became my only way to explore new worlds. It was fantastic.

Still, I knew I was different from the others. I wrote differently, I read differently. Once the letters were there, their order didn’t matter. It required hellish concentration to see them individually. I would literally read one full sentence at once. In my mind, it was a hunger for knowledge, stories, and transformation from the tender age of 9.

Under stress, I also stammered. I’m sure it was anxiety. I have changed in time, thanks to amazing teachers and the slow discovery of technology, too. The internet gave me new powers to learn, manage, and create small projects in its emergent years.

Seeing me stammer at times, everyone told me to speak more slowly and more articulately. However, they were also making me keep quiet and be a good girl. At the same time, I was reprimanded for being too shy, while others’ kids were so bold and articulate. Ugh, it was all a fight between being and becoming who they wanted me to be.

Nothing was simple. Nothing was enough. I was never enough.

I was lucky in my life to have compassionate teachers, except for some who didn’t understand. My favorite teacher always saw the talent in me and supported me with understanding and accepting love beyond their strength. She passed away a few years ago, and I felt a deep loss and regret, but also gratefulness to have met that amazing lady.

I finally became a writer at the age of 39, after a long journey to understand my true self. I finally could become who I am. Read more about it here.

I will never forget the moment in high school when my Romanian teacher truly appreciated the personal, insightful commentary I shared. It was about a gloomy Bacovia poem we had to analyze in Romanian Literature class. Somehow, I deeply identified with that poem. I wasn’t depressed in any way, or at least, I wasn’t sure what that meant as a human being, per se. Maybe I connected with it because I was a teenager, profoundly alone in my quest to understand myself, in love with the moon, and writing fervently (even if without creative writing technique at that time).

There were very few people who took the time to help me reflect and wonder. Somehow, few people had time for me, as a person. It was a generational style of upbringing, sort of growing with the flow.

My own example might show something about how far a person can go if they are supported and accepted, rather than made life harder.

A more recent, well-documented reality

Many children struggle with early learning challenges. These are connected to anxiety, lack of focus, and often feelings of not being enough. Like I felt so often during most of my school years.

Research from 2025 confirms that socio-economic factors, limited early childhood education quality, and mental health stressors disproportionately affect vulnerable children worldwide. They hamper their ability to thrive academically and emotionally. We need more awareness for sure.

Therapy waiting lists can exceed a year. In the U.S., merely 20% of adolescents receive therapy, and 16% utilize medications, even though 40% report facing significant emotional challenges. — Youth Mental Health Crisis in 2025: Teen Anxiety, Depression & Self-Harm on the Rise

The OECD highlights that high-quality early childhood education and compassionate, informed teaching can significantly close achievement gaps and provide crucial support to struggling learners. That type of kind support I was fortunate to receive from my teachers makes a meaningful difference.

We need to recognize these hidden pains and not hurry to administer medicine. It’s more about providing love, patience, and tailored care in education. We could help children learn and build resilience and self-compassion.

My story is not unique. Early struggles with learning and anxiety can shape a life.

It is crucial to approach these struggles with kindness, patience, and understanding. As stated above, millions of children face unseen barriers to education. These barriers are tied to mental health, social conditions, and the quality of support they receive.

Instead of rushing to medicate or judge, we should focus on compassionate teaching. Tailored care and creating safe environments could help children feel like themselves, struggle less, and ultimately thrive. I was lucky to receive this kind of support, which helped transform pain into strength and self-compassion.

If you are a parent, teacher, or anyone involved in nurturing children, I invite you to remember this: your empathy and care can make all the difference.

I dare to imagine a world for my children and all kids, where no child feels they are “never enough.” I dare to hope that children could be recognized, valued, and encouraged to become who they truly are.

Through sharing and listening, we grow together as a community.

Thank you so much for reading, reflecting, commenting and helping carry these stories forward.

The Stories We Carry is a Series I publish here.

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I originally published this story here.

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