Date: April 27, 2025
Author: Natalie Matthews

I often think about my music teacher from high school, Ms. Harper. She was the one who, unknowingly, pulled me out of the darkest place in my life. I was 17, struggling with things I couldn’t speak about, trapped in a spiral I thought would never end. One afternoon, during one of our usual music classes, she did something so simple, yet so powerful. She saw me, really saw me. She looked at me when I was slouched in my seat, barely holding it together, and instead of brushing it off or ignoring it, she asked if I was okay. She didn’t just ask to check off the box; she cared. I didn’t have the words to answer, but somehow, that small act made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.

I never told her how much that moment meant to me, how it stopped me from taking a step I couldn’t undo. But now, years later, I feel this nagging need to reach out to her. To thank her. To let her know what she did, even though she’ll probably never remember. But I don’t know how to say it. I don’t want to put that burden on her, like, “Hey, I’m one of your old students, and you saved my life without knowing it.” It sounds so heavy, and I don’t want to overwhelm her. I just want to say thank you, but how do I even begin?

I imagine sending her a message, something like, “Hi, Ms. Harper, I was one of your students back in the day, and I wanted to thank you. You probably don’t remember, but there was a day when you noticed I was struggling, and it made all the difference. You saved me. I’m doing much better now, but I wanted you to know how much you helped me back then.” But then I second-guess myself. Maybe that would be too much. Maybe I’m romanticizing it.

Part of me just wants to give her a hug, tell her everything, but I know that might make things awkward for both of us. She was my teacher, and that boundary has always existed. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that she deserves to know, that she should understand the impact she had on me and on my life. But what if it’s just better to keep this quiet, to remember it myself, and to move on?

It’s just hard, knowing someone had a hand in keeping you alive, and not being able to express that in a way that feels right.