Ringo #43
Judgement day...
The work I’m involved in right now is prompting a lot of reflection on years gone by. In recent school workshops, I’ve watched our team guide Year 9 girls through a process on resilience, building strong mental health, and fostering supportive friendships.
Naturally, my mind wanders to my own Year 9 — how I navigated the schoolyard and the ever-shifting sands of friendship.
Year 9 was a sweet spot for me. I loved riding to school with my brother, always seeking the fastest route so we could arrive early. Once there, I’d head straight to the quadrangle to play bat tennis with the boarders — mostly boys — and that became my happy place. I’m so grateful I was in a co-ed school environment; the boys became my buffer, my safe space.
At lunch, I kept myself busy — choir, sport, kicking the footy — anything but sitting in a gossip circle. It wasn’t my scene. Sure, there were afternoons spent lounging by my friend’s pool (conveniently across the road from school), and later, the odd sneaky ciggie, but mostly I was on the move. Even then, I was happy in my own company.
Looking back, I see now that Year 9 was when my leadership journey began. It sparked a drive in me — to think differently, work hard, and find creative ways forward.
It was also the year of my first “real” boyfriend — A tennis star of sorts, tall, handsome and funny. I thought I was made in the shade. He’d love to hear that now, I’m sure! We’re still good friends today and even attended our 40-year school reunion together. Sometimes, friendship is far better than all the other stuff. I still remember the day I beat him in a serious finger bun eating competition — I clocked six under an expanding school belt!
Fashion in Year 9 was tricky — uniforms were strict, but I found my own style in subtle rebellion. Inspired by my older sister, I wore navy “explorer” socks and a darker navy crew-neck jumper, to add some level of cool to the code, along with the silver bracelets that I still wear today!
That year also brought my first job. I worked late nights at a café in town — poor Jude would pick me up at midnight. Earning money gave me a taste of independence. I still remember my first purchase: a silver-grey puffer jacket from Sussan’s. Sad but true!
In our workshops today, one word keeps popping up: judgement. It stops young people from being brave, honest, and sometimes even kind. It’s made me wonder — when do we stop caring about being judged?
We’re wired to belong, and judgement threatens that. But often, I think the judgement we fear from others is really just our own inner critic turned outward.
My goddaughter says it stops in Year 12: “You’re head of the school — who’s going to have a crack at you now?” Maybe. But I think it comes later, and in waves.
When you partner or marry, you might feel confident and hopeful — a new chapter begins. But then the littles arrive, and with them, new layers of worry: parenting choices, lunch boxes, extracurriculars — too much or not enough?
When the littles grow up and leave school, you can breathe again. The birds are singing, the washing eases, and a new rhythm takes hold. By then, you’re well into the third act of life. You’ve built a stronger sense of self and gathered a loyal group of “luckies” — friends who don’t judge, but instead offer witty, wise counsel on everything from dating and parenting to work and travel.
By this stage, most of us have experienced some form of loss. That, too, builds resilience — and clarity. Health, peace, and purpose begin to matter far more than status or stuff.
I don’t remember judgement being a big presence in my own Year 9. I do remember feeling awkward in my body, wanting to fit in, wanting to be liked. But I also remember being kind, inclusive, and a good friend.
It was a simpler schoolyard than today’s. There are so many more influences now — technology, social media, endless comparisons. Yet, at their core, the young women I see today still want the same things we did: to belong, to lead, and to be kind, caring friends.
I feel hopeful.
XX Ringo XX