As someone who attended an Episcopalian school for the majority of my life, I was unfamiliar with the concept of a strict religion.

From my experience, the Episcopalian faith is truly one of the more ‘laid back’ religions, as the ordinary practice entails simply believing and practicing the works of Jesus Christ. If you’re like my family, you did your best to get to church on Sundays, but for the most part, going to the Christmas and Easter service was enough for the year.

When I decided to (literally) take a leap of faith and attend a Catholic high school, I had no idea of the harsh reality check I was in for.

At first, the thought of attending a school that practiced the Catholic faith didn’t see like a huge deal to me. I was involved with the middle school cheerleading team there, and my older sister was a student at the time. Looking back now, why she or I chose to go to a school that affiliated strongly with a religion we were completely unfamiliar with I will never know. Nevertheless, it was one of the top high schools in the area, and most of my friends had also chosen to attend it, so I was not too worried about what my future was going to look like there.

I dreadfully remember having to go to the uniform store where I had to try on a navy blue and deep green long plaid skirt, in addition to the thick cotton-white collared shirt. I stood there looking at myself in the mirror, feeling bulky and awkward, with my skirt lingering far past my knees. I quickly asked when my mom could take me to get it hemmed, to which I was abruptly met with the uniform store lady replying, “Oh no, sweetie, that is the shortest you can go at this school.”

In that moment, I knew this was going to be a long four years. Spoiler alert: I didn’t last four years.

The first few weeks were an adjustment, to say the least, and a lot of praying. I was thrown for a loop when it became apparent that a morning announcement prayer, praying before every class, taking required religious studies courses and reading from the bible was a daily occurrence — not excluding weekly mass every Wednesday. Mass entailed two hours of worship in a hot, sticky gym eating water wafers and drinking wine while watching others occasionally pass out while trying not to do so yourself. However, when it came time for me to approach the altar and receive communion, I always crossed my arms over my body to symbolize a polite decline. Plus, I didn’t like how the wafers tasted.

Not only was there a great deal of praying, but, of course, it was all Catholic prayers— something I had never practiced or recited before. I should have been somewhat prepared for this, as I willingly chose to go to a Catholic school, however, it was instances like breaking out in the “Hail Mary” prayer in robotic unison every time an an ambulance passed that felt a little uneasy. My high school self stood there, itching and tugging at my sweater vest and long skirt while looking around, trying to act like I knew what everyone’s next word would be in the prayer.

During the whirlwind of emotions I was experiencing during the transition period of my freshman year, it is safe to say I went through a little bit of an emo phase. Black nails, chunky chains and dark hair started becoming a norm for me, but this was not in accordance with the school’s strict uniform handbook. The handbook ruled that jewelry, multiple piercings and nail polish were apparently distracting to wear at school for reasons I still cannot make sense of.

I remember being in French class trying to tuck my bulky chains into my collared polo as we did our daily roll and uniform check, where my poor teacher kindly reminded me again and again about my illegal chains. After enough friendly reminders, though, action was taken.

Apparently, my accessories mattered more to me than being disciplined, as I had racked up enough detentions to earn myself “Saturday school.” Saturday school was a disciplinary action implemented once a student had received a certain amount of detentions, where we spent six hours on the campus doing manual labor.

Picking up trash, cleaning rooms of various buildings and praying for our sins for six hours really made me think about what I had done and come out of this a better person … not.

Sometimes earning yourself Saturday school was a lot easier than we prepared for.

For one, the school’s phone policy was extremely harsh, as we were not allowed to have a cellular device for the entirety of the day. Looking back, I often think about if something bad had happened at home, or if a loved one was in trouble, because there wouldn’t be a thing we could have done. If we were, however, caught with our phones out, we received three detentions on the spot, no questions asked.

Let’s just say my Saturdays early freshman year of high school weren’t precisely spent frolicking in a flower field.

Phones were not the only top priority of this school, as I mentioned previously, they also cared greatly about the appearance of our uniforms. The uniform guidelines for young men seemed pretty attainable, merely having their hair sitting no further than the ear, and their light khaki pants were expected to surpass their ankles.

However, the guidelines so graciously paid particular attention to a long list regarding women students’ uniforms and wasted no time taking action if need be.

“Skirts must reach the length of the top of the knee,” as stated in the student handbook, actually started an entire movement.

While the school warned us women countless times to check the length of our skirts, it seemingly wasn’t a top priority as much as learning was. Ignoring their warnings and embracing a plethora of pink slips in mass numbers, detention became the new hangout spot.

I think it is also important to add that if women received a certain number of detentions due to the length of their skirts, they were forced to wear pants for three consecutive months. Yes, pants. While I did receive my fair share of detentions from miscellaneous infractions, I never earned enough from my skirt to wear the pants— I was too scared of that fascist fashion statement.

I remember walking down the halls trying to make my way to class, where teachers stood at their doors, most of them glaring right at our knees. Many of them actually had rulers or post-it notes to ensure that our skirt was not too short, as this obviously would be a distraction to our learning and others. They yanked us from the hallways while trying to make our way to class if they suspected our skirts were not in compliance with what was acceptable in the eyes of the Lord.

Soon after the great skirt scandal, I’ll never forget coming out of my class to see sticky notes posted on the walls, lockers and doors, leaving no room to question that someone was fed up.

The notes ranged from statements like, “Is this distracting now?” and “I want to learn, not get in trouble for my skirt.” It was not only incredibly brave, but necessary. I understand Catholic schools are very particular about their uniform, but targeting young women who were there for the sole purpose of getting an education was uncalled for.

One of my teachers, who was not a particularly warm woman, snatched one of the sticky notes from the hallway, bringing it to class, and crumbling it up for the garbage. She was a part of the faculty members’ side that was not for this certain feminist movement and even made a few colorful sticky notes of her own.

I remember people were not happy when they saw her clashing notes next to theirs, reading something along the lines of, “Why don’t you go to another school where you can dress like a slut.”

It is safe to say the lady from the uniform store wasn’t kidding.

With these harsh rules put in place, it could make the pressures of being a high school student feel far more unbearable than usual.

While not encouraged by any means, it is no secret that young adults might feel inclined to experiment with drugs and alcohol around this time, and being at a strict Catholic school certainly does not stop that.

The school had a very strict drug and alcohol policy. Every so often, a pink sheet would be slipped under the door of classes around the 7th or 8th period. Everyone would hold their breath. If you were so lucky to have been summoned on the pink slip, you were obligated to report to the gym for a random drug test. If, for whatever reason, you tested positive for any drugs or alcohol, you were placed on a contract stating that you agreed to be regularly tested from now on, and if guilty of violating this contract, you would be expelled. The school also required a lengthy rehabilitation program for anyone who was caught.

Arguably, this was a great way to ensure students were safe and held accountable, but it was excessive to a certain degree. A student’s future shouldn’t be ruined due to an insignificant slip-up, if that’s all it is. However, students were just as proactive as they were scared about this entire drug policy. I will never forget seeing some of the upperclassmen hiding bottles of urine on themselves and throughout the school that were clean of any incriminating substances in case of random testing.

Smart, but desperately gross.

In addition to the contracts, there were also drug dogs that we became pretty close with. I mean, they had full access to all of our belongings, lockers and backpacks. If they smelled something that seemed off, you reported to the gym for testing. Thinking about the poor students who merely had food in their possession and were put through a disciplinary emotional rollercoaster still makes me laugh. Some students were so scared of getting randomly tested that if they had any inclination that today would be their fate, they just wouldn’t come to school.

It is sad to think that a student would be more concerned about jeopardizing their future and getting in trouble than their education. However, that was the slippery slope of this high school.

I saw many of my good friends end up in rehab or suffer from drug-related issues during this time. I remember when a fellow student of mine went to our guidance counselor, expressing that he was struggling. What was her response? “Why don’t you try to focus more on your studies, I think you might be overreacting.”

And yet, I still hear about former students of this school being troubled today. Do I think that this school had any responsibility for this? Yes and no.

At the end of the day, people are going to make some stupid decisions. Being a young adult with high pressures and anxiety from the place they are supposed to learn and be valued definitely causes more unwarranted decision-making than normal, in other words, to choose to drink or do drugs.

On the other hand, choosing to participate in illegal acts that we were profusely warned about is just that— illegal.

However, I think that if my Catholic school cared more about the well-being of their students rather than how our uniforms looked or if we were doing drugs, everyone would be collectively happier. I think that so much more could have been done to contribute to a more positive environment, and maybe some of the teachers or administration wanted that, but could not voice it, due to religious practices or protocols preventing them.

I don’t think the Catholic religion is wrong.

I don’t think that this school was corrupt due to the sole reason of being a Catholic school. I do, however, think that it was a contributing factor.

My relationship with this religion was deceitful, and that is just my humble opinion.

I mentioned previously that I did not last the whole four years — there was no way I could’ve. I felt like an outsider as it was, but when I witnessed the well-being of myself and others clearly deteriorating, I knew it was time to take some initiative. Right before the pandemic, I transferred to a local public school, where it changed my life forever. Funny enough, I was not alone in transferring out of this school, as some of my peers dropped like flies from there, too.

At my new school, I felt valued and listened to. It was an instantaneous difference. Many more mental health measures were taken seriously, I met my best friends still to this day there, and did not have to wear that itchy and uncomfortable uniform anymore.

I am still in contact with some of my teachers from there today, too, and I owe the last two years that I spent there and eventually graduating everything.

What to take away from this?

Listen to your gut. Whether it be in a social situation, a significant other, a teacher or a toxic environment, if you feel it is wrong, then it probably is. Leaving what I had known to be my only experience of high school was terrifying, but I’ll never regret it.

Ansley Graves is a junior at UT this year, studying journalism. She can be reached at [email protected].

Columns and letters of The Daily Beacon are the views of the individual and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Beacon or the Beacon’s editorial staff.