That Quiet Voice of Superiority: Growing Up ‘Elite’, Feeling Apart - anonymous male ex-boarder

This piece of writing was writen by a client of mine who wishes to remain anonymous but has given me permission to share this on my website. 

I’ve been reflecting on a difficult and shameful feeling lately - something that’s been there for a long time but I haven’t ever wanted to express out loud. It’s a quiet, persistent sense of superiority. A belief, somewhere deep in the wiring of my mind, that I’m better than others.

It feels uncomfortable to admit that. I’m not proud of it. But I also know that the most healing truths often begin with the most uncomfortable honesty.

From a young age, the boarding school experience surrounded me with messages—both subtle and loud—that I was special, different, and better. Smaller class sizes, harder entrance exams, teachers who told us we were getting the best education in the world, Latin lessons (“no one else learns Latin”), parents who spoke of privilege as a point of pride. It wasn’t just about learning subjects; we were learning a worldview.

The institution was intensely competitive. You weren’t just encouraged to do well, you were expected to be the best. And when you were, you were treated like a god. Academic top performers, team captains, prefects - they were placed on pedestals, celebrated by peers and teachers alike. Success became proof of worth.

We never had sports fixtures to play local schools. Why would we? They weren’t on our level. The idea that others were “less than” us wasn’t questioned - it was baked into the structure of school life. And that sense of separation extended into our social worlds too. You didn’t mix with “town kids,” with those from state schools. You stayed within the bubble. And the bubble told you one thing, over and over: you are better.

None of this is to excuse the feeling of superiority I carried in my life for a very long time. But I share it now to try and understand it  and to lay bare the cultural and institutional framework that shaped how I see myself and others.

And here’s the thing: that superiority? It’s not always arrogance. Sometimes it’s armour.

Feeling like I was better than others helped me survive. It gave me something solid to hold on to in a world where connection, vulnerability, and emotional safety weren’t readily available. If I was superior, I didn’t have to be close to people. I didn’t have to risk rejection, or mess, or need. I could stay inside a shell of polished success.

But that shell also kept me alone; I’ve started to see that. That sense of uniqueness, of being separate, of no one quite understanding what it’s like to grow up in the private school boarding system. That is loneliness in disguise. Superiority became a way to protect myself from pain. But it also kept love, intimacy, and belonging at a distance.

I’ve met many others who grew up differently, without an ‘elite’ boarding school education, without shiny credentials - but who are just as smart, just as successful, just as insightful. And just as hurt. Just as human.

This isn’t a story about blaming my schooling or judging others who’ve walked similar paths. It’s just a piece of personal truth I’ve been untangling for the last few years. One that helps me understand why I sometimes feel apart, and how I might begin to come closer.

 I hope this blog post reminds you that we’re all shaped by our environments, and that healing often starts with seeing those patterns clearly. Not to shame ourselves, but to free ourselves.