Respectfully, go to hell

Effective immediately,

I resign from following an ancient rule that is so deeply rooted in most of us. The one that no longer makes sense. At least to me. At least in today’s world. At least in the way it is so often presented.

And yes, I do realize this resignation comes from a very emotional place, and it might make me sound like a complete asshole to some, but I don't care. I’m done!

I quit!

I refuse to follow a rule that belittles me. A rule that might have made sense at some point but hasn't for a long time now.

This resignation letter is long overdue, but better late than never.

I resign from blindly following the "Respect those older than you" rule.

The first time I thought of resigning was thirteen years ago, when I was in my first year of high school.

Note: In my country, high school is three years, from years 10 to 12, and age-wise, most likely you are 16 to 19.

In year 10, I was at a new school, and I was unfortunate enough that I had two teachers who, for lack of a better description, were terrorists. I can’t describe their behaviour any other way than as psychological terror.

Every day, there were students who ran out of their classes, crying; they quite literally verbally assaulted us. Countless students changed schools because of them. Even more started having mental health issues due to the constant – now, I’d even go as far as calling it abuse – pressure and stress.

These teachers had a habit of picking out a couple of students they mostly concentrated on. I was lucky enough not to be chosen, but it doesn't mean it didn't affect me. And, if that wasn’t enough, one of them was also my homeroom teacher.

That teacher yelled at the entire class when someone was absent due to being sick. I remember it like it was yesterday. "You are not children anymore! You are now in the real world. Do you think you can just skip work in the future when you’re a little sick? No! So, you get your ass to school. Deal with it."

Sure enough, word got to those who were at home sick, and they dragged themselves to school the next day with a runny nose, sore throat, major headache, and even fever. You’d think the teacher got what she wanted... Well, think again. "You are all incredibly irresponsible for coming to school when sick! Do you want us all to get sick? I don’t want your germs! Get out of my class!"

That is just one example, but every day she found some reason to yell at us, to scream at classful of sixteen-year-olds.

There was no winning with her. Whatever you did or didn’t do, it was wrong.

I got sick and spent a week in the hospital during that year, and when my doctor heard which school I went to, her expression said it all. Her exact words were, "Ah, that explains your situation." I clearly wasn’t the first one there with similar story.

That week, lying in the hospital bed, was when I made my final decision. That I didn't have to take it. I didn't have to stay in a situation where someone – a stranger, no less – just unloaded all their anger and issues on me. My health, physical and mental, was more important. I refused to put up with it and respect them just because of their position. I chose me.

I changed schools. But to get my documents from that school, I needed a signature from my homeroom teacher, so I had to see her one more time. I called her and we set up a meeting. I would have been happy to just get the signature and leave, but she demanded to know the reasoning behind my decision. I tried to dodge the question, but it was clear I had to tell her something.

And I could have lied.

But at that moment, something clicked in me.

A realization that I didn’t have to lie. I didn’t have to make up an excuse for her sake, because I had one – a very real one. So I told her. I told her that I didn’t want to spend the next two years in this toxic environment she had created; one that made me hate school, hate life, and made me feel so sick I spent a week in the hospital. I told her that before that year, I’d always loved going to school; not once in my life had I felt that I didn’t want to go. But I hated every day of that year. I told the truth and held nothing back – that I wanted better, that I deserved better, and that I was removing myself from an unhealthy, borderline dangerous environment. And then I left.

I wasn’t the only one in my class who left after year 10, but I was the only one who told her the truth about why I was leaving.

Later, of course, I heard stories about how incredibly rude and disrespectful I had been to that teacher; how in the old days, 17-year-olds knew their place and would never have dared to speak to a teacher like that; and how I had no respect for those older than me.

For a short moment there, I was a villain in this small town's schoolteachers' circle. But I didn’t care. I didn’t give a shit. I was free, and all I did was tell the truth. That day, I decided to choose me. I decided not to follow a rule that makes no sense, just because it's there and, for some reason, socially accepted.

So no, you do not have my respect just because you happened to be born before me, or because you're in a historically respected position. Respect is not given solely based on your birth year or status. It is earned, no matter the age or profession. Treat others with respect and kindness, and I will respond with the same.

That was the first time I boldly decided to ignore that rule. And it felt good. It felt good because I chose myself over silently and blindly obeying a rule that doesn’t make sense.

But that was over a decade ago. So why am I writing this letter now?

This resignation letter was brought about by another incident – a much more recent one. A small encounter that had an enormous impact on me.

Hence the letter.

Hence me quitting on the spot.

No two-week notice.

I’m finally done.

It happened in a grocery store, on a random Tuesday. I was in the produce aisle, my phone with the shopping list in one hand and three cucumbers in the other. I was just standing there, wondering if I need one more or was three enough. As I said, a random Tuesday.

There was an old lady next to me who happened to drop her wallet. I was just about to put the cucumbers into my basket and pick up her wallet for her when she jabbed me with her elbow – so hard there was a bruise later – and barked at me, "I dropped my wallet!" with a look on her face that suggested that I’d taken her wallet and thrown it on the floor.

I would have been more than happy to help her, had she asked nicely. If she had waited three seconds while I put the cucumbers in my basket, I would have helped her, no words needed. But this!?

Oh, hell no!

This five-second encounter was the last drop for me. I felt sick to my stomach, and that teacher's face appeared before mine.

I looked at her, said, "Yes, you did," and walked away.

She swore at me. Loudly.

She never would have behaved like this with someone much older than me. I didn’t owe her anything. I didn’t have to tolerate her rudeness and violence just because she happened to be born before me.

So, from here on out, don’t expect my respect just based on your age. Because I’m done.

I’m out.

BuT yOu HaVe To ReSpEc.... NO!

I don’t have to anything!

I'll match your energy. And if you don't like what you get... well, food for thought.

So, accept my resignation... or don't. I really don't care. Either way it's effective immediately.