I always found school easy. I understood its rules, conformed to its 
conventions and thrived on the praise that frequently came my way. My reports were good, I never had a detention and my parents always came home from parents’ evenings with happy faces. School made absolute sense.
Once I started teaching, I realised that not everyone had this sunny experience. For many children, nothing in school makes sense. The letters on the page that so obligingly opened up a world of wonder to me, were simply squiggles to some children. The patterns that were so obvious in music or maths were completely hidden from some of my pupils.
Frustration.
Being a fairly empathetic soul, I was patient and kind with the children who didn’t ‘get it’. I explained in as many ways as I could. I kept my voice calm and gentle. I praised every tiny step on the road to success. I never criticised their forgetfulness.
However, I didn’t really understand them. I didn’t experience the frustration and anger that was being tightly contained inside their heads. It simply didn’t occur to me that they would be feeling so much turmoil.
The Penny Drops.
What I hadn’t noticed was how much of life I avoided in case it was too hard or because I’d tried it and not found it easy.
I don’t really do make-up, as I am not sure how to make it look right and would rather not try than get it wrong. 
I don’t dance (unless in a very relaxed and safe place with trusted friends). I am not particularly body-confident and would rather not try than look silly.
I don’t go to clubs and never did. Guess why!
I avoid fast food outlets like MacDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken and Subway. Some of that is for ethical and/or food quality reasons but a lot of it is also because I didn’t frequent them as a youngster and don’t quite know how they work. 
Chip shops and pizza outlets I can do, so it’s not really entirely the health factor.
The truth is, I’ve rarely been in a situation that required me to face my inability and push through the frustration and then learn.
Facing My Own Frustration
The twenty-first century has revealed my inner Luddite. Like everyone else, I have to use computers on a daily basis and, like everyone else, I love them when they work.
Mostly, they do work and I am able to write posts, prepare lessons, order shopping, email my MP, research the local recycling centres and speak face to face with my son in Vietnam. 
When this happens, I feel good. I am clever, capable calm, professional, and generally nice to be around.
However, sometimes it all goes horribly wrong. For example, I changed my name when I got married. Everything had to be re-set. Passwords I’d long forgotten were needed. I needed to know which username I’d entered over a decade ago. I needed to remember which favourite food I’d chosen for my security question and what were the headings of the emails I sent from my old server in a previous lifetime.
I couldn’t do it. It made no sense. It didn’t make allowances for my circumstances. However hard I tired and however many passwords I put in, I couldn’t get access to the areas I needed.
It drove me MAD! I literally wanted to smash the laptop. I was filled with an irrational and impotent fury which did not help me one jot and made me a very horrible and nasty person. I blamed my husband, the internet, Apple, Microsoft, the Prime Minister and most of the cabinet.
And then, next time I was in the classroom with a child who was angry and frustrated, I knew how she felt. I told her I can’t do everything and that I get really frustrated with the computer. She smiled but I could see she didn’t believe me.
Admitting Weakness
I went home and made a certificate which stated that I, respectable teacher and bona fide grown-up, get really, horribly angry when I can’t work the computer. I got my husband to sign it and I gave it to the child.
I think it helped that child that academic year. It definitely helped me. I know the power of the rage that frustration can bring. And I know that we all have things we can’t easily do. As we grow older, we find ways of avoiding them, but actually, it’s useful to admit to our weaknesses. We are all human and none of us is perfect. Admitting it makes us better at understanding each other.