The place doesn’t hold my shame. I do.

In my junior year of college, I got caught up in “bad behavior.” I paid a price, but it still haunted me many years later.

Until now.

It’s September 1985. I snag an overseas student slot at the prestigious London School of Economics and Political Science. At 20, I’m consumed with what other people think and want desperately to fit in somewhere.

That year, I fancied myself a budding journalist. (Which I later abandoned for law because I didn’t think I had the creativity to meet frequent deadlines. Oh the irony!). So I start writing for the LSE student newspaper, The Beaver. And quickly become Editor. A job no one seems to want yet they resent a Yank at the helm.

Still, it gave me entrée to the Student Union crowd. They’re loud. Boisterous. Obnoxious (often). Unafraid (so I thought) to speak their mind with passion. Many use the school politics as a stepping-stone to Parliament. They terrify me. I pray their attitude will toughen me up.

Watch what you wish for, girl.

As I remember it, the Entertainment Coordinator (a v-e-r-y popular Student Union officer) would find local bands to play on campus. After each event, he’d use some of the proceeds to treat friends and “mates” who worked (unpaid) on the gig to a late dinner in Chinatown. Being asked to join the group for the “Chinese meal” made you Somebody.

One night, there was a gig — only difference was the proceeds would go to charity instead of Student Union coffers. The event goes off without a hitch. The crew heads out for its usual Chinese meal at the Lido. This time, I’m invited along.

I try to play it cool. Inside, I’m jumping about like a happy piglet. Squeee! I finally fit in!

Though a little uneasy about the charity part, I tell myself I’m going to the meal as Editor of the paper. For Journalism. My then-boyfriend begs off. “It’s not right,” he says. “This is supposed to be for charity.” I go anyway.

That led to my downfall.

Student liaisons for the charity find out about the meal. And that I was there. My Student Union “friends” vanish. Someone makes a censure motion to remove me as Editor. My boyfriend wouldn’t talk to me. Within weeks, I go from inner circle to pariah.

March 1986, Censure Day. I stand in front of the auditorium. Try to remember the defense coaching I got: Be firm. Don’t show weakness. The more you talk, the longer they’ll shout. I force my voice not to quake.

I think I made it through my short speech … but all I remember is seeing the sea of 200 hostile faces and saying my first two opening words (literally, “Point One …”) before the verbal torrent erupts. They had already made up their minds. Not that I had a strong defense, mind you, but it was safer to punish the American woman who’s returning to the U.S. after the school year than the popular English (and male) Student Union officer who’d be back on campus in the Fall. I was censured and removed from office.

My LSE school year was only two-thirds complete.

That’s when I told myself:

• I don’t have the power or ability to defend myself
• I am completely unpersuasive in negotiation
• I am an unethical person who does not deserve a voice
• I am a failure

That ghost followed me around, haunting me from time to time.

Fast forward 37 years.

I visit the LSE in June 2023. It’s a warm sunny day freckled with rain. I walk around the city campus. Like much of London, campus has changed so dramatically it’s unrecognizable. There’s nothing physical to trigger my memories.

The place doesn’t hold my shame. I do.

So I chose to tell myself a different story:

1. I do have the ability to defend myself. I. Stood. Up. I addressed the entire Student Union. Winning the day depended on factors outside of my control, and which were not in my favor.
2. I am courageous. I got involved in activities that really pushed my comfort zone while many other American students used the year for leisure travel.
3. I can forgive myself. I was 20 and insecure. In the grand scheme of life events and graft, my errors were minor. I have punished myself far in excess of the crime.
4. I learn from my mistakes. The experience seared into me that I live better and happier when I stay within ethical bounds. Just a couple of years later I law school, I win the American Jurisprudence Prize in Ethics in law school two years running.

That’s when this ghost stopped haunting me.

Now I’m free to figure out what I want to stand for, instead of hiding from opposition.

July 10, 2023