I recently went to my grandson’s school play. It should’ve been one of those soft, heart melting moments you treasure forever, but instead it hit me square in the chest, and not for the reasons anyone expected. Watching him on that stage did something to me. It dragged me right back to my own childhood, to all the times I stood exactly where he stood: performing something I didn’t choose, smiling because it was expected, shrinking because it was easier.
Because here’s what we learn early, long before we even realise, we’re learning it, that adults love a “good” child. The one who joins in. Doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a fuss. We learn to perform long before we learn to express ourselves. We learn to read the room before we learn to read our own feelings.
And somewhere in all that, the real self, the loud one, the curious one, the sensitive one, the stubborn one, the one with instincts and opinions, gets pushed to the side. Not because anyone is cruel, but because the whole system rewards compliance over authenticity.
I felt the same growing up, I felt like I was being spoon fed the same knackered script:
- Get the grades.
- Follow the rules.
- Don’t rock the boat.
- Be “good.”
- Be quiet.
- Be agreeable.
And if I did all that? Supposedly, life would fall into place. Aye, course it would, well what a load of bollocks. Because here’s my truth: school wasn’t built to teach me how to live, it was built to teach me how to behave and to conform.
- Sit still.
- Keep my gob shut.
- Do as I was told.
- Don’t question owt.
- Don’t make a scene.
- Don’t take up space.
And the bit that still winds me up? When they encouraged me to “express myself,” then shut me down because my voice was too loud, too honest or too much. I wasn’t being educated. I was being moulded into whatever version of me made their day easier.
But they missed the important bits, the bits that mattered in the real world.
- They tried to teach me how to turn up on time, but not how to turn up for myself.
- They tried to teach me maths, but not how to invest in my own growth.
- They tried to teach me English, but not how to say what I felt.
- They tried to teach me physics, but not how to understand the chaos in my own head.
- They tried to teach me to follow rules, but not how to set boundaries that protect me.
- They tried to teach me history, but not how to question the stories I’d swallowed without blinking.
- They tried to teach me new languages, but not how to listen to my own voice, because they were too busy trying to quieten it.
- They tried to teach me how to fit in, but not how to stand up for who I actually am.
- They tried to teach me how to behave, but not how to live.
If anything, some of the best lessons I ever learned weren’t in the classroom. They were on the playground. That’s where I learned how the world really works, that’s where I
- Learned to read people by watching who stuck by me and who vanished the second things got messy.
- learned loyalty from the kids who’d stand shoulder to shoulder with me, even when it all kicked off.
- Learned how conflict starts in the split second between a glare, a shove, and “say that again.”
- Learned how to stand my ground with my heart thumping, legs shaking, choosing not to back down, even when every instinct screamed run.
- Learned what belonging feels like in those rare moments I wasn’t the odd one out, laughing because I’d finally been let in.
- Learned loneliness stood on my own, pretending I didn’t care while it burned like hell.
- Learned who was genuine, who was two-faced, and who’d sell you out for a bit of attention.
- Learned how to navigate unspoken rules by getting them wrong, taking the hits, and figuring it out the hard way.
- Learned to trust my instincts from the knot in my stomach that always knew before my head did.
- Learned how to survive the social hierarchy by climbing it, falling off it, and realising I didn’t want to sit at the top anyway.
Those lessons, the messy ones, the painful ones, are the ones I learned with grazed knees and a bruised heart; they’re the ones that prepared me for adulthood. I wish someone had taught me the things that would equip me for adult life, like
- How trauma creeps into your bones and rewires your whole system.
- How to survive the things you never asked for.
- How to rebuild yourself when everything falls apart.
- How to trust yourself again after being let down.
- How to feel safe in your own skin.
- How to listen to your body when it whispers “enough.”
- How to speak up without apologising.
- How to set boundaries without drowning in guilt.
- How to stop shrinking to make other people comfortable.
- How to back yourself when no one else does.
- How to unlearn the bullshit you swallowed whole.
- How to choose yourself, properly, fully, unapologetically.
Sitting there in that audience, something in me shifted. I thought, not this time. Not this generation. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it, and I’m not letting my grandson grow up without those tools. So, as part of this blog, I have decided to create my own syllabus, a curriculum I had to write for myself, one that finally made life make sense and something that I can teach my own grandson
1. EMOTIONAL LITERACY Naming What’s Really Going On
What I want you to know: Feelings aren’t the enemy. Confusion isn’t failure. Overwhelm isn’t weakness. If you don’t know what you’re feeling, it will run the show from behind the scenes.
What I learned the hard way: If you don’t name it, it controls you.
What I want for you: Call things what they are before they take over. Say “I’m sad,” “I’m scared,” “I’m angry,” “I’m confused.” There’s power in naming the truth.
TRUTH: If you can’t name it, you can’t change it.
2. BOUNDARIES & PERSONAL AGENCY – Stopping the Self Abandonment
What I want you to know: Your “no” matters. Your comfort matters. Your energy matters. You don’t have to shrink to keep the peace.
What I learned the hard way: Self-abandonment always sends you the bill later.
What I want for you: Say no without writing an essay. Treat resentment like a smoke alarm; it means something’s off. Protect your energy like its gold dust.
TRUTH: Your boundaries aren’t up for debate.
3. SELF EXPRESSION Saying the Thing You Want to Swallow
What I want you to know: People can’t read your mind, even the ones who love you. Silence doesn’t keep you safe; it keeps you invisible.
What I learned the hard way: Hoping people “just get you” only leads to disappointment.
What I want for you: Speak up. Say the uncomfortable thing. Don’t shrink so someone else can feel bigger.
TRUTH: Your voice isn’t trouble, it’s your truth.
4. UNDERSTANDING YOUR INNER WORLD Unlearning the Version Others Build
What I want you to know: You’ll inherit stories — from family, school, society — but not all of them belong to you.
What I learned the hard way: You can’t build a life that fits you if you’re living someone else’s script.
What I want for you: Question everything. Keep what fits. Bin what doesn’t. Build yourself on purpose.
TRUTH: You can’t know where you’re going if you don’t know who you are.
5. TIME, ENERGY & SELF CARE Rest as Rebellion
What I want you to know: Rest isn’t laziness. Rest isn’t weakness. Rest isn’t earned it’s needed.
What I learned the hard way: Burnout isn’t a personality trait.
What I want for you: Take breaks. Say “I need space” without guilt. Don’t perform productivity for approval.
TRUTH: You’re not a machine, and even machines get serviced.
6. GROWTH MINDSET Becoming a Student of Your Own Life
What I want you to know: Growth rarely looks glamorous. It’s slow, messy, and often invisible.
What I learned the hard way: Waiting for big breakthroughs keeps you stuck.
What I want for you: Choose yourself again and again. Take the tiny steps no one sees. Keep going even when it’s not pretty.
TRUTH: Small steps count, especially the ones no one claps for.
7. HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS Choosing Your People With Intention
What I want you to know: Not everyone deserves access to you. Familiar doesn’t always mean loyal.
What I learned the hard way: Who you let close shapes your whole life.
What I want for you: Choose people who respect your boundaries. Release the ones who shrink you. Share your softer bits with people who’ve earned it.
TRUTH: Who sits at your table shapes the life you get to live.
8. SELF COMPASSION Permission to Learn Late
What I want you to know: You will get things wrong. You will fall behind. You will mess up. And none of that makes you unworthy.
What I learned the hard way: You can’t grow from a place you’re busy punishing.
What I want for you: Allow mistakes. Celebrate tiny wins. Remember, you’re learning things no one taught you.
TRUTH: You’re not behind, you’re just learning at your own pace.
My boy, if you remember nothing else from Nanny T’s syllabus, remember this:
You were never born to perform for the world; you were born to belong in it. You don’t have to shrink, twist, hide, or harden to fit anyone’s idea of who you should be. Your feelings aren’t flaws. Your voice isn’t trouble. Your boundaries aren’t rude. They’re your compass, and they will guide you home every time.
Life will hand you moments that shake you, stretch you, and sometimes break you, and you’ll still rise. Not because you’re supposed to be strong all the time, but because you’ll know yourself well enough to rebuild when you need to and remember, never fear, cos Nanny T is here
Love Nanny T
#unapologeticwriter
#haveawordwithyourself
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