First Person: Confronting my bully has put me on a path to healing

My eyes fixate on the 10 digital numbers flashing on the WhatsApp chat. They’re just numbers, but my hands tremble. My index finger hovers over the call option, a battle of wills raging within me. A deep breath steadies my resolve and before I know it, I’m dialing the number I’ve pondered using for years.

“Hello! … Hello!” The familiar voice breaks through. My former French teacher from level four in primary school back in Morocco.

“It’s Aicha. I used to be your student. Do you remember me?” I ask, my heart racing. Hearing her voice again pulls me back to 2010, a time I’ve tried to forget.

I was just nine years old, bursting with excitement and a thirst for knowledge. French was my favorite subject; the words danced in my mind, each one a melody. Speaking French felt like stepping into the pages of a Victor Hugo novel, alive with adventure. But all that changed when I reached level four in primary school, and the joy began to slip away.

As part of the learning process, I made mistakes in pronunciation and writing, and this is where my teacher came in like a hurricane to destroy my childhood and my life. She began making fun of me in front of the class, humiliating and belittling me.

At first, I tried to ignore it, convincing myself that if I studied hard, everything would change. However, as time went on, her teasing turned into a nightmare that haunted me every night. I still remember one day vividly.

My classmate and I were decorating the blackboard before she arrived. We were laughing and playing, but then we started to fight over the markers.

When the teacher walked in, everything changed. Instead of settling our argument, she pushed my classmate into her seat. Then she turned to me. In a flash, she grabbed my hair, pulled me toward her and slapped me in the face.

I cried, but not because of the physical pain. It was because of the emotional damage I felt. How could a teacher treat a student like this?

After that moment, I hated school. I wanted to drop out and never come back. I would have rather worked as a maid than continue school. I felt small and worthless. The laughter of my classmates echoed in my mind, and I dreaded the thought of going back to class each day. I began to associate French with pain and humiliation.

Years later, before I got the courage to talk to my teacher, I still struggled with the impact of her bullying. Whenever I tried to speak a foreign language, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. The fear of making mistakes and being laughed at stopped me from participating in class. I often avoided speaking in front of teachers, convinced that I would be ridiculed.

To move forward and finally let go of my dark past with her, here I am today. I am confronting my nightmare and the heartless witch, as I used to call her. Listening to her speak kindly to me evokes my anger, and something inside me wants to yell and tell her all the pain I buried inside for years.

“Do you know why I called you after all these years?” I ask in Arabic.

“No, I don’t, but I’m glad you did,” she replies.

“Why did you treat me like that? Do you know how much I suffered because of you? All these years, you continued your life normally, but I wonder—was it normal? Was it normal to put your head on the pillow and fall asleep knowing that a little innocent child is crying because of you?” I ask, tears running down my cheeks.

I can hear her voice change, softening into a fragile whisper that reveals the surprise and vulnerability beneath her usual tone.

“I never thought that I had ruined someone else’s life. I had stress and didn’t know how to be a good teacher,” she says. “I grew up with teachers who treated me the same way. I thought that was the normal way to teach.”

Her words are shocking. They make me realize how cycles of bullying can continue if no one breaks them. My feelings toward her have changed. I used to feel angry, but now I have sympathy for her. I wonder, what if I had talked to her before? Would that have helped me recover earlier?

The answer is it doesn’t matter. Moving forward is what truly matters.

Dr. Laila Kamar, a psychologist with over 10 years of experience working with children in Morocco agrees. “Children who are bullied often carry that pain with them for years. Healing takes time and effort, but it possible,” she said. “It is important for them to know their feelings are valid and that they deserve support.”

This has helped me see my teacher as more than a bully, she was also a product of her environment.

Despite my negative experiences, I’ve been working on myself. I know I can’t let my past define me. I want to be strong and overcome my fears.

I’ve started listening to self-trust podcasts and watching videos on YouTube of people who have overcome their trauma. I stand in front of the mirror and practice my public speaking. I remind myself that making mistakes is part of the process. Each time I speak, I feel a little more confident.

I may always carry the scars of my past, but I embrace them. They are a testament to my strength. Fear will no longer hold me back.

For the sake of anonymity, I have chosen not to honour my teacher’s name here by using it. I believe it is essential to focus on healing rather than on individuals from the past.