“Stand up with your back straight. Shoulders down. Chin up. Don’t slouch,” my elementary teachers would say to me. It was so routine of them to correct me as if I was some robot meant to obey orders, but like an animatronic, I did – I hadn’t found my cheat code yet.

Parent teacher conferences always centered around negative feedback on my behavior. I was a good student. Good grades. Kind. But none of those things mattered to the so-called educators of tomorrow. They cared about how “Adolfo needs to be more open. He’s just a little shy. He needs to talk more.”

My brother had everything I didn’t: friends, a social life and outgoing behavior. Every day from the beginning of kindergarten to seventh grade, I was always Arturo’s little brother. His teachers would be excited to have a clone of their favorite student, but be disappointed to find out I wasn’t like him.

I wish I could’ve offered them a refund on me, but I couldn’t. I was not up to their standards. I was broken.

Forgive me if I drowned in worry every time a teacher asked a question. Fear of humiliation from the other students taunted me over the fact that if I got an answer incorrect, everyone laughed at me and thought I was dumb.

I’m sorry I never hung out with other students. Even at a young age, I understood childhood friends would come and go. I never saw the point in forming friendships that were never meant to last anyway.

To all my elementary school teachers – I am not like my brother. These comparisons were not right for a child my age to have gone through. Every day feeling as if I was nothing like him – that I wasn’t confident. Social. That I would never be able to talk out loud – I’m doing it all.

It’s a good thing I had bad posture because it helped me learn that kids are cruel. Especially when you’re walking home from school with your brother, only to be pushed down by two random students for no reason, while your brother is not even tormented. Walking home in tears, begging my mom to start picking me up by car was the highlight of any middle school day for me.

Lucky for me to also have a heavy backpack all the time. While I used it to carry my school supplies, other students used it to push me and criticize my stature. Like in middle school when I would get called short repeatedly, or in elementary school during a pep rally when a student shoved my backpack with it still on my shoulders. You can imagine what that was like – especially when the whole school is able to see you getting bullied with no one doing anything about it.

It’s also a good thing my teachers were so strict. Every time summer came to an end, I would panic with fear coursing through my arteries. Because of that, I got unhealthily skinny at 9 years old as my anxiety crept into my eating patterns before the start of fifth grade. Every meal I ate – gone in seconds. Every day got worse as I felt like a hand was choking me, but I only realized it was from the acid climbing up my inflamed throat. Luckily my mom intervened in time, but the fear still lingers.

Thank you to the one kid who constantly bullied me in sixth grade. From skinny shaming me in the locker room after my eating disorder, to calling me trash in the hallways – I thank you. You are the reason I will never take crap from anyone ever again. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to tear someone down for self validation.

I appreciate the teachers and students who didn’t think I could do anything – who didn’t think I could ever lead people, perform on stage, or be outgoing.

I thank everyone who thought I was too shy or quiet to do anything successful. It’s because of them, I realize I can do anything. In fact, they’re the ones who motivated me to be where I am in life. You guys were the spark to my candle – you started my fire.

I still see kids I knew in elementary and middle school. Ironically, some of the most confident people I knew turned out to become shy and quiet during high school. It was an interesting switch in fate.

My mom always told me to be yourself. Be kind. Be respectful. And have good manners. Those words were the pillar blocks of my foundation ever since. Through all the times I got bullied, I never showed my true wrath to those small-minded individuals. Even though sometimes I felt aggrieved and humiliated, I still stood strong. I knew it was better to let fate deal with those kinds of people rather than me taking matters into my own hands.

Now that I’m older, I have found my cheat code. Hacking into my own system, I am finally free.

Even though sometimes I can hear the threatening words of anxiety or fear creeping behind me again, I just take a look back and see how far I’ve come. Proving all of those wrong assumptions is the best revenge I could ever give. It lets other people know how mistaken they were.

If I could ever go back in time, I would change my shy ways. But thanks to them, I learned how the world works in both good and bad ways. Without that experience, I would never be the person I am today. So, to my past teachers and bullies, thank you. Because you taught me that I should never be someone to mess with.

Thank you.