As I walk into a classroom on the first day of a new quarter, I automatically find a seat towards the back of the room. Not because I want to play on my phone or talk to my friends or not pay attention. Not because I think that if I sit to close to the front the professor might bite me or something. Simply because that’s what I’ve been trained to do.

For the rest of the class, I sit in the back and keep my head down and pay attention. If the professor asks a question I don’t dare raise my hand. Even if I know the answer. Especially if I know the answer. If I’m forced to do group work keep my head down and say as little as possible at the topic at hand. If the person next to me wants to chat I usually make some comment about not wanting to be there and if they ask “no, I didn’t do the reading” even though I most definitely did.

I didn’t used to be like that. When I was a kid I loved learning and I didn’t care who knew it. I used to talk all the time in class. If a question was asked, my hand was up. I used to read all of the time. On the way walking to school, at lunch, in class. I used to get in trouble with teachers for reading books under my desk when I was supposed to be doing other things. I was the class know it all. When people asked if I was nervous for a test or if I had studied the answers were always “no and yes” in that order.

I would say “I remember when that all changed” but honestly, it hasn’t. I still love to read. I would never think of not turning in a homework assignment. Some weeks I spend more time in the library than at my house. I enjoy learning about the thing I find interesting. What has changed is how much I let others see my passion for learning.

I can remember exactly when that changed. It was in eighth-grade chemistry. I loved chemistry. I raised my hand all the time. I was the person who the teacher would look at and go “anyone else”? I don’t specifically remember what happened. All I know is that some kids started making fun of me for it. I started to associate raising with being made fun of. I was a loser because I liked learning. It made people not like me. So I stopped raising my hand. It was hard at first. I really wanted to raise my hands and participate. But I forced myself not to.

Slowly it became easier. Eventually, it became second nature. I started to pretend to not like school. Whenever someone said they hated a class or a teacher, I agreed. I pretended to not do homework or study for tests.

I didn’t realize how deeply engraved this philosophy of pretending to hate learning was into my being until college in which I had a class in which participation was part of my grade. I was terrified. Terrified of what other kids would think of me when I participated. It wasn’t that pretending to hate school made me friends. It just thought it made me more approachable. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because no one likes a know it all. But sometimes knowing things is pretty cool.