No Bully For Me

This is not my favorite thing to talk about.  In fact, I don't like to talk about it at all.  But it was such a large part of my life as a kid and it still is to this day.  Not because I am currently having to endure it, but because of the scars that run deep to my soul.  I am talking, of course, about bullying. 

It wasn't the kind of bullying that you see being portrayed on television or the movies.  You know, where the half-witted big kid, surrounded by his cronies, pick on the much smaller, geeky kid for his lunch money.   No, this was much more sophisticated and cruel.  It was, in a sense, psychological warfare.


You know the saying "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me"?  Whoever first said that was either lying or much stronger than I.  I think back then I would have preferred sticks and stones.  At least those wounds heal.  I, unfortunately, still carry around those scars that I received so many years ago. 

It started in elementary school and continued into high school.  It also started with just a select group of girls, but at times, became a universally organized effort.  I can't pinpoint exactly what they were doing to me, it was really a combination of things.  They would call me names, pull my hair, prank call me at home, pick me last in gym class.  It sounds silly now as I write it out, but at the time it was torture. 

I was short and skinny, with knobby knees and a freckled face.  I had frizzy, wavy hair that often had a mind of it's own.  I was smart and awkward and timid and too kind for my own good.  All I wanted was to fit in, to be accepted.  I tried everything that you can imagine to get them to stop.   I tried to laugh it off, tried acting like it didn't bother me, tried ignoring them and I even tried going to the teacher about it.  Nothing worked. 

I was miserable a lot of the time.  I had trouble falling asleep at night, my mind racing about that day's events and worrying about the next.  My grades began to slip and I was sick constantly.  My parents didn't know how to handle this.  They tried to be supportive in their own way, but my parents are not warm and nurturing people.  Late at night, after my parents had gone to bed, I would lay on the floor next to their bed, desperately trying to find comfort in their proximity. 

That image brings to mind something that I saw on Facebook the other day.  It was a lesson that a teacher taught to her 5th grade class.  A lesson on bullying.  She handed out a piece of paper to each child and told them to ball it up and crush it, stomp on it, and smash it as much as they could.  Then she asked them to try to smooth it out.  She asked them to try to get it to look like it did when she first handed it to them.  The class soon realized that it was impossible to smooth out every wrinkle and crease.  She told the class that the piece of paper represents a person.  And the act of balling the paper up represents bullying.  The act of smoothing the paper out represents an apology.  And no matter how much you try to smooth things out, no matter how much you are sorry for the things you say, that person is scarred permanently.  I can picture that crumpled piece of paper in my head and it reminds me of that shriveled little girl curled up on the floor of her parents bedroom.

I'd like to say that I am a strong person, a confident person, a well adjusted person.  I'm good at making it look like that on the outside.  And I admit that I am a stronger person, a more confident person then I was years ago.  But I'd be lying if I didn't also admit that I still struggle with the same insecurities that plagued me as a child.  There are days that I have nasty flashbacks that bring me back to all those feelings and emotions.  And now, I have a child of my own.  And not a day goes by that I don't worry about my daughter having to endure what I went through as a child.  But one thing is different.  I know that if she does have problems, I will be there for her.  I will be her rock.   I will make her feel safe and wanted and accepted.  She will not be alone.  That is a promise.