Learning from pain: My journey through different phase of communities

I often felt out of place whenever I was part of a community, a feeling that began as early as in my family, with my stepmother and beloved half-brother. I was treated like an unwelcome guest and was even called a “weirdo” (though the exact words used are too hurtful for me to share publicly).

I often acted in ways that felt strange or out of sync with others, which only deepened my sense of isolation, even within my peer group in kindergarten. For example, I’d unknowingly start humming or zoning out, drawing puzzled or annoyed looks from my classmates. I was quiet and preferred spending my break time alone, lost in books instead of playing or chatting with other kids. I struggled to connect with my peers and didn’t understand why. At the time, I couldn’t explain my behavior—it just felt natural to me, even if it set me apart. Looking back, I now recognize that these behaviors might have been linked to ADHD or depression, something I had no awareness of back then. While they were a source of confusion and frustration at the time, these tendencies have, over the years, given me a deeper understanding of myself. I share this now to offer insight into how these early challenges shaped both my experiences and my personal growth.

1. First Community and Self-Awareness

There was a friend I liked very much, and I tried to express my feelings by poking or pinching her. Unfortunately, my actions upset her, and she told other girls about my behaviour. One day, they confronted me after school, criticizing me harshly. Their words left me feeling isolated and ashamed. I apologized, but it was hard to rebuild trust and acceptance in that group. From that moment, I learned how easily a misunderstanding or poor choices in expressing emotions could lead to social rejection.

After this incident, I started withdrawing and suppressing my feelings. I think that’s when I began to hide parts of myself, a habit that stayed with me for years.

2. Second Community and Peer Pressure

High school introduced a new set of challenges. My family lacked the means to fully support me—just enough to provide for my half-brother—so I attended a technical high school on a scholarship, with the expectation of securing employment upon graduation. In early 2000s Korea, students were divided by their academic scores and restricted to schools within their assigned range. The school I chose was an all-boys institution with only a handful of girls, most of whom seemed uninterested in academics or lacked notable talents. On my first day, I immediately stood out because of the scholarship, which only heightened my sense of not belonging. I was often labeled a “weirdo” simply for choosing that school for the financial relief it offered. Despite these challenges, I secured a job at 18, fulfilling my father’s expectation of employment after high school.

During this time, I made a few friends—“M,” “N,” and “S.” “M” and “N” were familiar faces from middle school, and “S” joined us later. I shared my struggles with them, including the hardships of living with my stepmother, who was harsh and unloving. They encouraged me to move out, and eventually, I decided to leave home.

One night, I told my parents, “I have never felt loved in this family. You’d be happier without me, so I’m leaving.” My father, enraged, drove my stepmother and me to the edge of a seawall. Overcome by his words, I impulsively jumped into the sea. My father—who couldn’t swim—pulled me out and said with a weary tone, “You’re crazy. Do whatever you want.” I was truely on the edge.

Afterward, “N” and her family helped me find a place to stay. However, my relationship with “S” took a strange turn. She began taking advantage of me, asking me to buy cigarettes for her or occupying my room to drink. My relationship with “N” also became strained; despite her attempts to help, the situation seemed to worsen. Then, “N” made an offhand comment about how the way I smiled at guys made girls dislike me. That comment stuck with me, and I began to feel more isolated. Eventually, I returned home.

Upon my return, rumors about me spread rapidly, intensifying the situation. A group of girls, led by “K,” began targeting me, with “N,” “M,” and “S” joining in. One day, they pulled me out of school during lunchtime, dragging me from the back of the school to the underground car park. They physically assaulted me, spat on my head, and accused me of trying to seduce boys and being harmful to the friend group when I left the house. I couldn’t comprehend why I was perceived as a threat, but I felt guilty about being harmful. They even tore up my favorite cardigan, stepping on it and covering it in dust. The humiliation was overwhelming.

I was missing for hours, from lunchtime until 9 pm, yet neither my teachers nor my family reached out to check on me. After enduring that silence, I returned home, only to be met with anger from my parents. I was surprised by how proactive my stepmother was in addressing the issue. Despite this, I still felt abandoned by my own family and had no choice but to seek help elsewhere. Eventually, the parents of the girls involved paid my family thousands of dollars to cover my mental health treatment and avoid police involvement. This only fueled the girls’ resentment toward me. I became completely ostracised, as no one wanted to associate with me for fear of angering the group. I felt utterly alone.

3. What Is Accepted in Traditional Communities?

In 2019, after earning a certificate in Pâtisserie in Melbourne, I returned to my home country and began working as a pastry chef at an old, established restaurant. The senior staff had been there for over a decade, and the workplace culture revolved around frequent after-work drinking sessions. Senior staff often bought alcohol and food for the younger staff, creating a sense of hierarchy and tradition.

Some seniors were overly friendly, occasionally crossing boundaries by trying to hold hands or making inappropriate remarks. One night, a senior staff member shared a taxi with me and kissed my forehead without my consent. I was shocked and furious but felt powerless to confront him. On another occasion, another senior invited me out for drinks and made inappropriate comments that left me angry and frustrated.

My emotional state began to spiral. I cried daily on my way to work and drank heavily every night to numb the pain. My mental health deteriorated further when a female senior staff member started treating me harshly, possibly because I avoided the male senior staff who had crossed boundaries. She would storm into the pastry kitchen, yelling at me over trivial matters. My anxiety became so severe that loud noises or sudden movements triggered intense fear.

One day, I had a severe panic attack at work, breaking down in tears and uncontrollable shaking. A close friend took me to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with depression, alcoholism, and panic disorder. These conditions were rooted in the trauma I had endured, which echoed the abuse I had experienced as a child.

Despite starting treatment, the hostile environment persisted. The female senior staff member’s behavior worsened. One day, she berated me so intensely that I fainted from the stress. After resigning, I learned she had told younger staff members not to associate with me, further isolating me.

4. Reflections: Finding Strength in Vulnerability

Looking back, I often wonder if my own actions contributed to these situations. Was it my openness, my lack of boundaries, or my struggle to protect myself that made me an easy target? These thoughts linger and can be hard to shake.

But as I’ve reflected on my past, I’ve realized something important: none of this was my fault. Growing up with the pain of abandonment—my biological mother leaving when I was just a year old—left a deep imprint on me. That wound shaped how I approached relationships. I longed for connection, care, and belonging in ways I hadn’t experienced before. In my efforts to find that, I didn’t understand how to set boundaries or recognize my own worth.

Without realizing it, I left myself open in a world where some people see vulnerability as an opportunity to hurt rather than nurture. I acted from a place of survival—sharing too much, trusting too easily, and sometimes behaving in ways that might have seemed unusual.

It took me a long time to see that feeling like a victim doesn’t make me one. Being hurt or mistreated doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means someone else chose to harm you. While I had room to grow and learn, none of these experiences gave others a reason to treat me poorly.

Sometimes, it’s not just about individuals. Communities and cultural norms can create environments where punishment or judgment of someone different is seen as acceptable.

Last night, I had the chance to attend a staff party, but signs of a panic attack stopped me. From that moment until now, I’ve reflected on my fear of being in groups and realized how deeply past experiences have shaped this fear.

My partner listened to all my stories and spent the day helping me calm down. He reminded me of my strength and encouraged me to build our own group or community—a place free of bias or judgment, where people can feel safe and valued. His support gave me hope and reminded me that it’s possible to create a space where vulnerability is met with kindness rather than harm.