The Curse of Being Blessed
By: Claire Pinsonneault
“Oh no! I think I burnt my nipples” – yes you heard me correctly – although this
didn’t happen to me physically but was given to me as a role – throughout the span of my
life I’ve come to realize being “blessed” sometimes isn’t always what it’s cracked up to
be.
Born in 1989 I was merely but a young girl in elementary school striving to be
happy and social. Eager to make friends, I was forced to interact with another girl whose
mother taught at the school as well and her friends during after school hours until my
mom was ready to head home. For some reason, I was still isolated during class excluded
from playing the simplest of games such as house in the kitchen area that was set up in
the classroom. One of the strongest memories I have at school when I was 4 is that every
time we had free time to play I was excluded or picked on so often I’d ended up
eventually playing puzzles every time to hide my tears behind this huge stack of shelves.
Yet already struggling with minor bullying until grade four, my mother who was also a
teacher at my school eventually pointed out a “development” that little did I know would
change my life forever. “Claire I think it’s about time we go get you measured for your
first bra.”
Those words still echo in the back of my mind as the simplicity of it all seemed so
exciting and positive, the time I never considered the snow-ball effect it would create and
not only for my social life but for the way people see me and treat me. I always figured
that perhaps since I started development earlier then my peers that maybe I would stop
growing sooner but this wasn’t the case because as it turns out the schedule whether early
or late does not reflect the size outcome; only you’re genetic body’s plan determines your
growth outcome. (Paulette Bourgeois) Now I understand what you may be thinking, “Oh
woe is me, it must be so tough to be blessed with a chest. Try telling that to girls with a
flat chest.” Yet take a moment to hear my side of the story. Imagine being eight years
old and backed into a corner as you’re surrounded by eight girls pelting you with rubber
balls – or picture a circle of girls watching two of them hold my arms as another gives
Indian sunburns as hard as she can and as I push them off and start to run away I realize
there’s really no where I can hide – and then ladies look down at your chest and while
you reminisce over my story, if you hold the same opinion then I applaud you.
You think that being the most “developed” girl in the fourth grade would finally
put a stop to the bullying and maybe even help you gain some new friends. However,
this was not the case because for some reason this development caused the bullying from
others to get even worse; expanding from not only the other girls in my class to teaches
and even my bosses.
Determined to get to ninth grade where I would be able to expand my horizon
from my current selective social atmosphere I decided to spend time playing sports on my
own while making friends with boys, as well as people who were in other grades. Then
finally when I found some friends to hang with when I could escape the bullying, my
development continues to sneak up and trip me from behind.
“Any girl who has started to show signs of development is not allowed to wear
tank tops to school anymore.” As the teacher on yard duty stares right at me, I know that
although she may be speaking to a group of girls, she was not directing that message to
everyone. Tank tops were the popular trend for kids in the 1990’s and as I stood there
watching the teacher walk away, everyone knew I was the one she was talking about and
again provoked them towards their usual tendencies of bullying. This same teacher even
took it as far as in grade eight – after having this teacher in grades three and six – made
me along with the girls that were bullying me sign a contract agreeing to expulsion if I
were to dress inappropriately or my behaviour continues. Apparently I deserved to be
expelled for being “developed” and bullied.
Figuring that this treatment from teachers would change along with my schools –
I positively entered my first day of grade nine science only to hear, “Oh so you’re Claire
Pinsonneault. I know all about you St. Pat’s girls and how you share a brain. I have a
special seat reserved for you at the back of the class.” Turns out my grade nine sciences
teacher and guidance councilor played bridge with my elementary school teacher who
mistreated me all those years. I guess my previous teacher found it in her best interest to
fill in my future teacher on the kind of girl she thought I was, therefore making the next
four years of high school a similar manifestation of my treatment on the playground.
I went to high school determined that from the first orientation in the summer held
at my future high school I would say aloha to any negative people in my life and start
making real friends. I was a tom-boy in the sense that I love sports and I have a lot of
male friends so even though uniforms were enforced at our school I tended to wear my
clothes a lot baggier, especially as the years went on.
“AAAAAAAAA-CHEWWW! Oh hey Claire lend me one of your tissues will ya?”
Or perhaps “Hey tissues” are merely a few of the constant phrases beckoned from the
guys at my school. You see, the media portrays girls with large breats as flaunting them
life they’re going out of style – so when guys see a girl who has this gift but doesn’t
flaunt it – they decide to take it upon themselves to make jokes, lies, and even place bets
trying to see who could first prove they’re real. Even my sister a few years later, entering
into grade nine when I was a senior got teased about the size of my chest as well. Instead
of getting upset, I became almost immune to such comments and learned how to simply
use the power of my words to either joke back or spark remorse for their actions.
Basically I was no longer going to hide like I did in kinder-garden or run away but stand
up for myself because I know that no one deserves to be treated that way.
As a matter of fact, about a month into grade nine the ring leader of the group of
girls who tormented me throughout elementary school approached me at lunch one day
yelling about how I must be the one who started some rumor about her being a slut
during some part I didn’t even attend and said she was going to fight me after school.
Now with the technological advancements already in 2007 being so popular – somehow I
kid you not – immediately after talking to her I walked into one end of the re-locatable
building behind our school and walked down the hall only to hear as I enter my
classroom, “Claire is it true you’re fighting Jessica after school?” It turns out the six girls
who showed up to fight their favorite target stood facing me with my teammates on the
girls’ basketball team as well as all of our friends. I have never been so shocked to see
six girls run so fast onto a bus and so happy all at the same time. After her older brother
in grade twelve then tried to intimidate me by warning me to back off his sister I
explained to him the situation and he apologized and walked away. That was the day I
learned to use my voice and would no longer hide anymore.
“And your 2007 prom social butterfly award goes to someone very close to our
hearts, a close friend of ours, Claire Pinsonneault!” As I sat there in shock still trying to
digest the food in my mouth while my date is pushing me to go on stage, I finally really
recognized that it doesn’t matter what others think of you because it’s not about that. It’s
about what you think of yourself and what makes you happy at the end of the day and
you’re being true to yourself everyone will see that too.
So I found a way to make the best of my high school experience during my days,
however in grade ten I got my first job as a banquet server at a elite golf course and it
created a new idea of how I saw my “blessing”. When I first started serving the only real
problem I would encounter is the normal harassment now and again from chefs behind
the line or the occasional man talking to my chest while asking for another cup of coffee.
I always considered this to be typical behaviour for young men but as the years went on I
realized this behaviour sometimes never changes.
After turning eighteen my boss immediately promoted me to an event supervisor
where I was in charge of running weddings, banquets, concerts, and special events, as
well as the bar and staff that work each event. Knowing I was ready for such a big
opportunity I wanted to really prove my skills in this profession and didn’t want anything
getting in the way of that. Positive that dressing professionally on the job is a major
requirement I would as often as possible buy wardrobes that would look classy and
sophisticated but would ultimately hide my chest so there’d be no differences in
treatment. I got numerous compliments from my boss on my choices of clothing to work,
however that boss left the next summer leaving a new woman in charge. Hopeful for
another great season, I thought rather highly of my future boss considering I actually
trained her when she started working at the course. However, my hopes were way off
and it immediately became a slippery slope towards a summer of personal attacks that
were based never on my work ethics but my appearance.
“I don’t like the fabric of that blazer I never want to see it again.” Keeping my
mouth shut I respectively obeyed her remarks all season; all the while not only being
particularly underpaid for my position and working extremely illegal hours with no
complaints. It wasn’t until after turning down a job opportunity in Banff to stay and help
run the events since the course was short staffed that one fall evening the treatment went
beyond anything I could take anymore. First I should say I borrowed another supervisors
red blazer that night because although I was wearing three layers already to mask my
chest I thought it would be fully hidden behind a jacket. Wearing a brown, red, and grey
outfit I thought I was dressed quite professionally to run a wedding. It wasn’t until my
boss not only reprimanded me in front of the entire receiving the line for my wedding
saying that she finds my outfit inappropriate and made me do up the other button on my
jacket for the remainder of the night – but then found it in her opinion professional to
reprimanded me while I’m placing hot soups on my staff’s trays as their being passed to
me by a line of chef’s to go out for service. She brought down the largest men’s shirt we
had upstairs (I would know I checked) and in front of everyone said, “Claire I know I
already spoke to you earlier but I can’t stand the colours of your outfit and I find it
extremely inappropriate so you’re not allowed back into your function until you put this
on.”
The shirt stretching out past my knees and the sleeves way past my hands looked
more like a nightgown if anything; almost quitting right then and there I decided to not
screw over the deserving kind people having their wedding and go upstairs and finish the
night with class. I looked so bad however, one of the bartenders filling in that night who
used to be a supervisor at the course herself had to stop service to come out into the hall
where my own guests were currently questioning what I was wearing and why I had
changed to give me the keys to her car to get a shirt. “This is bullshit. I can’t watch you
be treated this way anymore. You look ridiculous.” Apparently she couldn’t bear to
watch me like that anymore and I didn’t blame her; brown dress pants with a black extra
larges men’s uniform shirt on top isn’t what I’d exactly call professional attire, especially
for someone running a wedding.
After I quit my six and a half year employment at the golf course considering she
actually wanted to fire me for that night therefore leading me towards the easy decision
of leaving before that could happen. Not only that but when I received the hours of my
pay I realized that she changed my time card not even paying me for the majority of that
night. Furthermore, has gone back and changed other times as well. I wish I could say
that that kind of treatment stopped but I’ve come to realize it’s going to follow me where
I go.
Going into university I decided to stop hiding behind men’s sweats and start
living; just because I love playing sports doesn’t mean I can’t still be feminine. Real
people are going to treat me the way I deserve to be treated and anyone else can live their
lives using false judgments but that’s their loss in my opinion because they’re going to
miss out on meeting some really unique and special people.
Looking back I wouldn’t change a thing about my experiences growing up
because they ultimately made me who I am today. I learned from every experience I
have and it has made me the strong person that stands here today. Although there is
always going to be nasty people in the world and others that judge and ridicule based
solely on appearances or stereotypes; without reminders these different kinds of people it
would be hard to really appreciate the truly great people that we’re blessed with in our
lives. So next time you see a girl whose “blessed” remember you never know – perhaps
secretly she wishes it wasn’t there and for once you’d notice her eyes instead. Until that
day I guess there’s nothing you can do but live and learn.
Works Cited
Paulette Bourgeois, Martin Wolfish M.D. Getting The Fact. 21 01 2012.
<www.ppwr.on.ca/03_07.html>.