#004 Olivia Dupree [Class of 2012]

I was in love with The Oaks for years. I was a successful student, a K-12^th “lifer,” and the type of kid this school was made for: I checked all the little boxes, participated in most of the extracurricular activities, and by every measure I fit in. It wasn’t until years after graduating that I began to understand  how brittle it made my relationship with myself, others and God, how poorly prepared I was for a post- graduate career in the medical field, and how addicted to self-righteous stubbornness I had become in those 13 years.

In 7^th grade I hit puberty and instead of learning about/celebrating my changing body, I was taught to feel shame and fear for my body. I was told to cover myself in order to protect my brothers from stumbling. I wore a vest or jacket over my polo shirt every day, even in the warming months of May and June. I wore a compressed sports bra (sometimes even two at a time) because I thought being smaller chested was better.

Before the school ball each year, female students were required to get their dresses approved by female staff. Women who were supposed to be my role models told me I needed another strap, another sweater, another button. Because my chest was bigger than the other girls in my class, I was never allowed to wear what they could. The same exact dress that would be approved for another girl was deemed “too much skin” on my body. I was taught that my God-given body was a temptation and I needed to wage war against it. Insecurity and hatred for my body took seed quickly in the fertile soil of teenage vulnerability and was watered by the words of my teachers and leaders. I covered up. I hid and hated myself. I thought it was the “righteous” thing to do.

Less than one month after graduating from The Oaks, I underwent breast reduction surgery and for the first time since puberty, I felt like I could wear t-shirts and tank tops in public without “causing a brother to stumble.” I went to great lengths to change myself thinking it was the righteous thing to do.   

            In 8^th grade I took an elective called “Women of Wisdom” where I memorized Proverbs 31 and learned to bake. Meanwhile, the boys in my class took an elective called “Leadership.” There was only one female student in that Leadership class and I, along with many of my female friends, judged her for joining. Somehow there was a collective understanding that leadership “just wasn’t meant” for female students. I was never explicitly told I couldn’t do something because I was a woman, but the message permeated throughout the school in more subtle but deadly ways.

The first question asked to visiting male alumni was, “What are you studying?” and the first question asked to female alumni was, “Are you seeing anyone?” A teacher told his class he was grateful for his wife’s college education because “all those late nights she spent studying prepared her for sleepless nights at home with the kids.” The only female role models provided to me were stay at home mothers and elementary school teachers. Obviously, there is nothing wrong with being a mother or a teacher; I just wanted to see more. Where were the female scientists? The politicians? The writers? The artists?

Still, I loved that place.

In 9^th grade I studied “American Literature” in the most homogenous way possible. The required reading list of 10 books that year had one book from a Black author and two from female authors. This lack of diversity was not limited to English classes. White Christian men made up the majority of my high school teachers, and white Christian men were the authors of nearly all my textbooks and the leaders of all my lectures. White Christian men were tasked with far too much, expected to be able to speak with authority on any and every subject despite their often limited life experiences. How wonderful would it have been if teachers were able to speak from a place of passion and experience?  So yes, let my White English teacher teach me C.S. Lewis. But let a Black English teacher teach me Phillis Wheatley and Maya Angelou. Let a member of the Spokane Tribe in to teach the local Indigenous history of Washington.

They said they were teaching me Literature, History, and Geography, but what they were giving me was a narrow Eurocentric education through a conservative religious and political lens. The absence of diversity in the curriculum was appalling and the fact that it wasn’t seen as a loss is even more so. How much richer an education could I have had if the faculty had crafted a curriculum that prioritized diversity?

When I got to college, I slowly…ever so slowly made friends with people who were not white. I attended a meeting with Black Students Union and can still remember the look on their faces when I told them that I had never once heard of W.E.B du Bois or James Baldwin. Why had I learned about Martin Luther and his 95 theses in at least three different classes, but can’t recall specifically learning about Martin Luther King Jr’s Marching across the Alabama River? We had an entire “history emphasis week” on the 1960’s and I can’t remember ever addressing the civil rights movement for racial justice during that time.

Still, I followed the lessons dutifully and listened well. Still, I loved that place.

In 11^th grade my parents divorced. There was only one teacher who had the guts to talk to me about it with sincerity. I was ashamed of my parents and felt isolated from my class. I remember desperately seeking representation at the school, trying to seek out the other “broken” families at The Oaks for support, understanding, and comfort. I could count the number of divorced parents on one hand.

I went to a church where many other Oaks families attended and watched as the church publicly excommunicated my mom later that year for adultery. The Oaks community followed suit. Few spoke kindly to my mom after that, if they talked to her at all. I starred in the Spring play my senior year and she didn’t feel safe coming to see me. She missed my Christmas concert and graduation that year out of fear of what the other parents would say to her.

Still, I was so sold on all the promises The Oaks had made.  I loved it so much that I jumped through countless mental hoops to find a way to justify my investment in the very community that made my mom feel completely disgusting and sinful. I chose The Oaks over my mom every time, internalizing shame for her that I saw modeled all around me. She used to be a celebrity at that school, with her famous chocolate chip cookies that she never gave out the recipe for. But after she had the affair, it was almost like she never existed. Nobody mentioned her name or brought up her desserts. It got to the point where I didn’t even want her at my school functions. I regret to say that by 12^th grade, I began taking after the many Oaks parents and teachers at the school who fully committed to the excommunication of my mom and tried to ignore her whenever I could.

In 12^th grade I delivered my senior thesis on the use of SSRIs and the Christian faith. My position was that taking medication for the treatment of mental health disorders was compatible with Christianity and not a sin against God. I received an incredible amount of criticism for my position: “Antidepressants interrupt your connection with God” ;  “There is joy to be found in the suffering” ; “Pray harder to find what God is telling you through depression.”

Reading my thesis now as a healthcare professional, I am shocked and embarrassed at how much time I had to spend laying out the scientific foundation of mental health disorders. Outside of The Oaks, this is not a controversial issue. The body of empirical evidence for SSRIs in the successful treatment of mental health disorders is vast, yet we were made to think mental health disorders could be dealt with willpower and religion. But I’ve seen in my own life the ways that these methods can be dangerous and unreliable for treating mental health disorders.

In 2013, my mom died by suicide and her final words written on a scrap piece of paper were, “you won.” I am not here to blame the school for my mom’s death. She was a complicated woman suffering from a very real mental health disorder. But I do wonder how different things might have been had there been a safe place for her to receive treatment and support among my school community.  

When I graduated, I sat down with the headmaster for my “Senior Exit Interview.” It was my 30-minute slot to share my thoughts on my Oaks experience and I couldn’t wait. After all, I was the poster child. I would be graduating with good grades, a couple awards under my belt, and a solid plan for my future. I figured the headmaster would be eager to hear what I had to say. But instead of listening to my thoughts or asking me any questions, the headmaster talked at me for over half an hour about my personal home life. I will never forget when he told me the church should have excommunicated my mom sooner.

It wasn’t until years later that I came to understand the way I loved The Oaks. I worshiped it like an abusive lover, a thrilling drug that made me feel brave and desperate, adored and despised, powerful and empty at the same time. The Oaks sold me on the promise of answers and having confidence in knowing “the truth.” They said they’d teach me to think critically and carefully about the information I would encounter after graduation. But the reality is that I graduated with a stubborn mind, ready to use my logic and rhetoric to beat “the truth” into anyone who disagreed with me. I was finished with learning. Instead of showing me how to think critically, The Oaks had spoon fed me everything they felt I “needed to know” without allowing me to question any of it, then sent me off to convert the world into agreeing with me.

That intoxicating feeling of being so certain you are correct gave me a security that I clung to when everything else in my world was breaking. That security was difficult to let go of but something that I would inevitably lose. The detox began when I got to college. I was sorely unprepared for a career in medicine and struggled through science classes. I knew nothing of current events or geography or global affairs. I didn’t know how to talk to people who were black or gay or Muslim. I fumbled my way through courses on World History, Indigenous Literature, Global Religions. I was confused as to why nobody else seemed to think Latin and Socratic theory and Beowulf were half as important as I had been led to believe. Any time the subject of High School came up I would try to talk about something else.

It took many years, several incredible role models, and a few wonderful counselors to really understand and process what 13 years at The Oaks had cost me. This is not to deny the good that came from my time there. During high school, I fell in love with writing and rhetoric largely in part to the heavy emphasis on those subjects. I appreciated the small class sizes and was able to build excellent relationships with several of my teachers. I found a lifetime friend in those hallways. Good things happened to me there, but looking back, I am more certain now of what it cost me and I am less certain that it was really worth it. I am forced to wonder if I could have made peace with my own body, learned more about the world, and graduated with a more open heart had I gone elsewhere for school.

They said they’d send me off into the world with the skills to be a lifetime learner: an open heart, a curious mind, and a driven spirit. I do have those things now, but I didn’t get them from my time at The Oaks. In fact, those things I gained only after years of unlearning, years of painfully stretching my scar tissues and letting go of the bitterness and fear that The Oaks instilled in me.

To any parent of an Oaks kid, know that these vignettes barely scratch the surface. To any alumni who relate to this, you’re not alone. To any current faculty at The Oaks, I hope you’re better than when I left you. To any current student at the Oaks, there is a difficult road ahead. I wish you luck.

 

With love,

A Former Oaks poster child

And because you probably guessed it already,

Olivia DuPree

For tracking purposes: #004