I Hated My School Teachers!

Okay, now one may read this title and find it controversial. A voice might even show up immediately, deeply offended, saying something like:

“How can she throw such a disgusting accusation at teachers? How disrespectful! How shameless! Teachers are like parents! Who raised this girl? What kind of home does she come from? She should be ashamed of herself!”

Done? Good. Because that voice is exactly the problem I am writing about today.

We have been so deeply conditioned to silence ourselves, to shrink, to apologize for having an opinion that challenges authority, that even reading a title makes us panic on someone else’s behalf. We were taught, in those very classrooms, that questioning is rudeness, that opposing is bad behavior, and that whoever stands at the front of the room is automatically right. ALWAYS! Without a single qualification check of their credentials. And what’s even more sickening and ridiculous is that we are supposed to agree mindlessly like good little students.

I am sorry to say this, but in our country, almost anyone can become a teacher. All you need is a piece of chalk, a board marker, a sifarish from a relative in the district education office, a screaming voice, and the audacity to stand in front of thirty terrified children, and then BOOM, call yourself an educator.

It’s time we grade the grader, evaluate the evaluator, and silence the silencer.

Do any of those teachers have an actual teaching license? No! Do any of those teachers ever go through a child psychological evaluation? Never! Do any of those teachers’ study pedagogy, the actual science of how people learn? Not once! Do any of those teachers understand child development well enough to know that humiliating a ten-year-old in front of their peers causes measurable, lasting behavioral damage? Absolutely not. Do any of those teachers receive training in emotional safety, the basic understanding that a frightened child cannot learn, that fear and learning are biologically incompatible? Not in the least.

So, then, on what authority exactly do they stand? On tradition? On fear? On the fact that nobody ever questioned them before?

Well. Someone is questioning them now.

Let us call things by their “true labels” because the children who sat in those classrooms deserved someone to expose what was happening to them in the name of “so-called discipline.”

When a teacher screams at a child in front of thirty peers, that is humiliation. When it happens repeatedly, it becomes a cause of “chronic anxiety disorders” that follow that child into adulthood, into relationships, into every room they walk into where someone raises their voice.

When a teacher smacks a child, makes them stand outside for hours, locks them out, or makes them kneel, that is not discipline. That is brutality. And the psychological name for what it leaves behind is “PTSD,” (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). The same condition we associate with war veterans. Being in that classroom was no less than daily bombing.

Repeated humiliation from an “authority figure” in childhood creates “learned helplessness,” a condition where a person stops trying because they have been taught, again and again, that their effort changes nothing. That they are less than dirt.

The daily torment of being called on, of getting it wrong, of being made an example, produces “social anxiety disorder,” a condition where a person physically cannot speak in groups, cannot raise their hand, cannot occupy space without freezing.

And the child who goes silent, who stops asking questions, who stares at the wall, is not disengaged. They have developed “dissociation,” a psychological defense mechanism where the mind disconnects from an environment it cannot escape. They are not unreachable or absent. They are shrinking.

And we called this sadism “nurturing,” “civilizing,” and of course, their favorite word: “discipline.”

For a long time, students across Pakistan quietly gave up on the adults at the board and turned to Google, YouTube, and the internet, looking to them as teachers. Or perhaps as something better. And can you blame them? No, because Google did not scream. YouTube did not mock you for not understanding the first time. The internet did not punish you for asking a question. It just answered, patiently, over and over, without making you feel guilty for the sin of asking.

When I was a student, I personally considered Google, YouTube, and the internet as my foster parents. And now there is AI, which millions of students use, not because it is magic, but because it does not humiliate. Because it treats curiosity like something valuable rather than something inconvenient. What does it say about your classroom when a child would rather ask a machine than raise their hand in front of you?

And while all this was happening, while children were developing anxiety, losing confidence, switching off, and seeking education from screens, do you know what the teachers were focused on? Whether your shoes were the right shade of black. Whether your uniform was ironed to their satisfaction. Whether your hair clips matched. Whether your nails were cut to the correct length, inspected hand by hand at the classroom door. Whether there was any mehendi visible on their skin. Whether your attendance was 100%. Whether your dupatta fell exactly where they decided it should fall. Whether your PTM fee was paid on time.

This was the curriculum. This was where the energy went.

And then people wonder why Pakistan ranks so poorly in global education outcomes. Why students cannot think critically. Why they cannot problem-solve. Why they memorize but do not understand.

Were they mentors or narcissistic abusers? I still don’t know.

I want to be clear. I believe in teachers. Real ones. I believe that a great teacher is one of the fierce protectors a vulnerable mind can find. I believe they deserve respect, admiration, and dignity as much as any parent, any elder, any leader.

But a real teacher is not just anyone random who stands at a board holding a marker, chalk, or a red pen.

A real teacher holds a “verified teaching license,” proof that they have been trained, assessed, and approved as fit. A real teacher has passed a child’s psychological evaluation, confirming that they understand how children conceptualize, react emotionally, and demonstrate behavior. A real teacher has studied child development, so they know that a ten-year-old’s brain is not a small adult brain and cannot be treated like one. A real teacher practices differentiated learning, understanding that thirty students in a room are thirty different minds, not one uniform lump to be processed. A real teacher fosters emotional safety because a child who is afraid cannot learn. A real teacher builds confidence, not because it is nice, but because self-efficacy is a prerequisite for achievement. A child who believes they can, does.

Until teaching licenses become mandatory. Until psychological screening of educators becomes standard. Until accountability for classroom abuse becomes real and enforced, do not tell me these narcissistic people are equal to parents. Do not tell me I must salute authority that was never legitimate. Do not tell me to respect a verdict that was never fair.

And above all, do not let anyone, chalk in hand or not, decide who you are.

That is yours. It always was. Take it back.