Friday 28 October 2011

Bullied and Bully

The talk lately has been loud about bullies. And well it should be.  Kids hurting kids, kids feeling the only way to escape the world by killing themselves... it's not right, it never was, but it's always existed.

And it's something we don't really speak of, still. More and more people mention it, but it's not spoken of that much when you consider the devastating consequences it can have on innocent lives.

Everyone needs to speak out against bullying.  It's not just about being gay, or poor, or even rich, pretty or ugly, smart or not so smart.  It's about people and how people hurt people.  Not just about the labels they use to justify their behaviour. We can all be targeted, with no rhyme or reason, for something as simple as saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

In grade four, I was bullied in a pool because I said "sorry" when I bumped into someone.  The kid (a girl) pushed me in the water until I was coughing and spitting out water and she kept screaming "Sorry!"  I was still learning English and was confused between "I'm sorry" and "pardon me," so I couldn't tell if maybe I had used the wrong word.  It took me ten years to ask one of my university friends if sorry was the right way to apologize.  (I totally use that word when I bump into people now, too.  And I bump into a whole lot of people cause I'm a klutz.  Never got beat up since.)

Most of us were bullied, too, at one point or another.  Parents, siblings, schoolmates, bosses, co-workers... we all have to learn to cope or fight back in some way.

I followed the usual advice, at first. "Ignore them and they'll go away."  Really?  Who the heck came up with that advice, anyway?  "Ignore the grizzly running towards you and you'll be fine!"  "That bus sure is big, but if you ignore it, it surely won't hit you."

Those words are stupid.  I came to the conclusion early on that people utter those words hoping that they can ignore it, and it'll go away. And it's understandable, even.  Parents might have been bullied at one point and it might be their sincere wish that it'll fix itself because they're afraid of facing the bully's parents, who might also be bullies.

I get it.  But still, don't utter that sh*t.  Standing up is hard, but so is being bullied.

When I was growing up in a welfare, drug-ridden area (which is now a lovely area, might I add), I was lucky because I had my brother and my mom, and we lived on the outskirts of the "low-income housing."  Sure, the house was falling apart and was insulated with Jehova's Witnesses pamphlets (learned that when I leaned on the wall and went through it), but it was home and I loved it.  There was a lot of bullying, but I only got beat up once.  It was for a Club Z towel.

Club Z was the predecessor of the HBC points, before the great Zellers/Bay merger.  The towels were given out for free when you joined.  And that's what I got beat for.  An old towel that everyone got for free, for signing up for a points card.

It wasn't a horrible beating.  No broken bones, no bruises that were difficult to hide, but I remember thinking how sad it all was.  Beat up for a free towel.

I grazed over that incident (and many other incidents, including large objects hitting me). School is where things were really annoying me.  We were a low-income (or poor, as we used to call it) single mom family with two kids, and we didn't have money for "un-necessities," which included clothes.  So I got hand-me downs from my cousins.  My boy cousins.  My straight-as-a-stick boy cousins.  And I developed early, to boot.

At one point, in grade six, I only had two outfits for a few weeks.  One red plaid shirt and one blue plaid shirt.  (My love for clothing and shoes developed later in life, thankfully).  I was teased a lot, as you can imagine.  One day, I was walking home and a boy followed me, screaming at me, asking if I only had two pieces of clothing and saying other nasty things that don't bear repeating.  I tried to ignore him, like I always did with bullies.  Like I'd been doing for years. 

I cried as I walked faster and faster, but he kept screaming at me. The sole of my right shoe chose that moment to begin ungluing and I was horrified he would see it wobbling and make more fun of me.  I couldn't walk faster because of my shoe. He got closer.  I got more scared.

Then something snapped.  I remember my eyesight actually turned slightly black and I got light-headed.  I was pissed. I'd ignored for too long.  (Totally a Hulk moment, but less nakedness, thankfully. Though I look good in green!)

Physically, I wasn't able to defend myself all that well, but I soon learned that words were just as powerful a weapon.  I'd been insulted enough.  I had material to work with.  I made that bully cry and I was proud of it.

And then I made a lot more cry.  Not just bullies, too.  I bullied friends, their siblings... whoever was close enough for a lashing. I was a generalist as a bully. I didn't pick on people because of labels.  I just attacked before others could.

We moved right after the tenth grade and I changed high schools. I hated it. My brother didn't change cities with us, so I'd lost my best friend. We'd gone to five grade schools (that we recall) and I was used to having him around as my sole, dependable friend. I became an angry, dark teenager (I could have totally gotten on the emo train, if the emo train had been identified and labeled back then!)  My new high school was less than favourable and had a lot of bullying, drugs and fights.  I wasn't in the mood for any of it.  There were three bouncers in my new school and they were all scared of me within a week.

My tongue lashings seared and I knew it.

Around this time I also discovered heroic fantasy literature and took away the lesson that it was okay and good to stand up for yourself.  But see, I turned it all wrong. I stood up for myself by becoming, quite frankly, a bitch.  A bully in turn.  I had become my enemy.  And I was damn good at it, might I add.

I enjoyed it.  I laughed at the tears.  I was still well liked, generally, since I was outgoing (always have been). People opened up to me and I threw their pain and weaknesses back at them when it suited me.

I skipped grade 11 and went straight to 12, not wanting to bother with high school anymore.  My situation at home was degrading, I had only a few real friends and I felt smothered.

I was all dark nebulous clouds and lightning.

Before leaving for university, which was at least eight hours away, my mom told me this: "Be careful of your words.  I don't think you understand the power in them."

Now I'd read enough fantasy and comic books by then to take these words to heart.  I really thought about those words for a long time.  My brother gave me a yin-yang ring to remind me to strike a balance.  It didn't have to be all or nothing.  I was terrible at defining boundaries.

I went to university with a clean slate.  I decided not to be the bully anymore. I thought I could be more.  I was right.

Being a bully was, honestly, easy.  It seemed to be the only way to protect myself, because "ignore it and it'll go away" just didn't work.  I tried, until I couldn't take it anymore and snapped.

I had to relearn to treat people right and respect them, but when I was ready to do so, I met the four women who are still my best friends to this day, more than fifteen years later. I had stopped being a bully.

I still wear my brother's ring, to remind me about balance.  To be bullied or the bully are two dangerous extremes.  I write books I hope will inspire people, especially young women, to stand up for what they believe in and for those they love, not because they have the right guy, weapons or outfit, but rather because they believe or learn to believe in themselves and are willing to do what needs to be done. I really want people to believe in the good and the harm they can do.  To refuse responsibility is to deny potential. It makes me sad just thinking about it.

I avoid talking about my past generally.  I hesitated in telling this story, too.  I tell the funny stories (and there are many) and the quirky stories, but the ones I'm not overly proud of, I keep to myself.  Often I also don't feel I have a lot to add to dialogues.  But in this case, I wanted to speak up.  I've been on both sides of the train tracks, I worked hard at becoming who I am today and still work hard at it, and I'm a strong believer in personal responsibility.  I'm also a straight white girl.  Being bullied and being the bully are not all about being gay or macho, different skin tones or belief systems.  Those are the stories I've been hearing lately.  They're important, so important, and thank you for everyone who has the courage to share them. It's not easy.

But they're not the only stories.  There's no need to further isolate kids by saying the label brings the bullying. I know it's meant to bring solace to the bullied, but it somehow echoes the message that bullies who bully certain groups are "normal" bullies.  Bullying affects everyone at one point in their lives, regardless of who they are or what they represent. And we all need to stand together, so that those who are more likely to get picked on know they're not alone, that they have allies.  And not just allies in people that are "just like them," but allies in everyone else, too. Let's break the isolation.

Let's all join our voices against bullying in a chorus that can't be drowned out.

11 comments:

  1. I was moved by your story, I can sympathize with it like most people who were bullied as they were growing up.
    I like to think I was never a bully, mainly because I was so busy trying to survive at home. My closest sibling was four years older than me and quite violent, I grew up defending myself!
    By the time I got to school, I wasn't grist for the bullies, when they tried, I fought back, even though I was small... The only girl and the youngest in a family of six siblings, I had very tough knuckles!
    We moved on average every couple of years, and I ended up being the new girl at many schools. My attitude was sad, I always figured the bullies at school were nothing compared to my brother, when we first got to a new are, I tended to beat up the resident bullies out of frustration with never winning at home.
    When the bullies came to call, I took them out and ended up with a wagon train of younger kids following me around in the schoolyard to avoid the bullies.
    That didn't bother me, I didn't like injustice, as it always struck me that if you wanted the world to be fair, you had to start it yourself.

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  2. Thanks for sharing your story! I always felt that one of my biggest strengths didn't come from within, but rather from my family, and the good home life I enjoyed. My heart aches for you that you didn't have that, and I truly hope you found it along the way.

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  3. Well said Marie! Being on the recieving end of bullying myself these last few years, its a fight not to become the type of person that I detest and fear the most. I too snapped as a result of bullying but instead of fighting back like I desperately wanted, I shut myself away in shame,depression and disgust, believing everything that had been said about and to me. This last year has been a journey of learning to like myself again. I realize that I might actually be a good person who deserves to hold my head high and be proud of my choices in life. Kids bullying kids turns into adults bullying adults! Education should begin in the home at a young age and continue through the school system. We should all speak out against this as no one; young or old, bully or the bullied should live their lives in shame or fear.
    Thank you for sharing your story Marie; you are a good person!!

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  4. Thanks for sharing too, Kim! I'm sorry to hear you've been the victim of bullying recently. That's the thing about bullying - it can happen at any age. I'm really glad to hear that you're blossoming again - you're a beautiful person, Kim! Don't hide yourself away, the world would be poorer for it!

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  5. Thank you for your story, Marie.

    One of the hardest things for the bullied (to coin a phrase) is that they don't see when they can (and have) become the bully. I've had quite a few "beatdowns" growing up, including dealing with some kids who made it their life's work to hurt me whenever they can. Eventually, of course, I learned to stand up to them (verbally, I might add) and it more or less ended.

    Still, I distinctly recall a moment in high school when I caught myself joining in the derision of another unfortunate soul, and it was then I realized that I became the bully. I stopped, vowing never to do that again. Ever.

    Never underestimate the power of words; better still, never underestimate your own power to do good or evil.

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  6. Good on you, my friend. Sounds like we had a simliar bully experience! I think that's part of why personal responsibility is so important in life. Like you said, we can't underestimate our own abilities to do good, or evil, nor can we assume we'll only ever do good. There's danger in that too, methinks.

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  7. Hey Marie, this brought back memories of my own.

    When I was growing up, my mother wanted me to become a Jesuit priest. Her brother and a nephew are Jesuits and she wanted to join the club.

    I was not allowed to show anger, throw tantrums or intimidate. I have two sisters, they were my training ground. No aggression, on my part, was permitted in our house.

    I grew up in the North End of Halifax in the sixties. That is a telling statement for anyone who knows that time and place.

    I grew up tall, at fourteen I was six foot four. We hadn't gone metric yet. I did not fight back, and I became a target for weak people very early on.

    I was more afraid of my mother, she too had a temper, than I was of those of my peers. My father used to joke that he could shave with her tongue.

    In high school, my "A-HA" moment came when one of my frequent tormentors said something derogatory, finally got to me. I just looked at him and told him to "come outside right now and settle this", and it ended.

    I did make it as far as the Seminary; just could not get past the "C" word, Celibacy.

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  8. Thanks for sharing, Paul! Totally understand why you couldn't get passed the "C" word... I really appreciate your story, especially since, at 6'4, most people would assume you had never faced bullies. I'm sorry you had to, but I'm glad you found your own ground to stand on. You've built quite a calm but assured character, so kudos, my friend!

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  9. This was going to be hard but since I read the comments...
    As someone who was bullied as a child and who has been the victim of "spousal abuse", I can actually understand how a victim COULD become a bully. But I was not brought up to be a fighter, and always told to walk (or run) away when possible, or to use my words when not. I believe I have only been in two fights in my life, neither involving serious injuries, and since I abhor violence I don't expect to ever be in another one. But I am tempted to break others up (if the risk to myself is not too great) and wish that these situations did not occur. The law might protect adult victims, but kids should not be afraid of bullies. They must be told to speak out, and parents must listen. So must school authorities and the like.
    Marie, you are too sweet, loving and positive for me to believe you could ever have been that girl you described,. But I guess if people can change and evolve, then all I can do is be grateful that you turned out so well. May the same apply to all children and young people!

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  10. Thank you for posting that Marie. I'm glad you were brave enough to share, and it's only right that I share my story.

    Growing up my family was firmly middle class. Not rich, but stable with two parents that worked, so my sister and I were latch-key kids.

    Our relationship with our mother could be, tempestuous, at times. She is a very strong minded person, and as much as we love each other and as warm as both my parents are, there were occasional bouts of great tension at home.

    Because of my father's job we moved around a lot. We moved at least four if not five times before I was 20. I was almost always the new kid in school.

    On top of that, when I was younger I was much more shy. By my nature I'm a quiet person. Most times I'd much rather fade into the background rather than stand out. Give me a book and a quiet place to read and I'm quite happy. Heck, I don't even need a quiet place. There were many times growing up I'd end up reading in a noisy room, losing myself in the story and blocking out the noise. It was an escape for me.

    So there I was, a shy new kid and the perfect target for the resident bullies of each school I ended up in. Funny thing is, it was rarely if ever physical bullying. Part of that was, well, growing up I was in casts a few times in the effort to fix my feet, and very few people were cruel enough to pick on somebody in a wheelchair. (At least that's how I remember it, though the girls did love the push me around, literally :) )

    After I was past the stage of wearing casts I grew so big so quick that the physical bullies didn't want to take the chance of picking on me, so the emotional torment began. The name calling, the freezing me out, and so on.

    Now, as I said I was already a shy kid, and my reaction to this wasn't to lash out but rather to build thicker walls. By the time I got into high-school I was so distant and cynical that no one could approach me. I had very few friends, and those that I did were, well, jerks is the nicest word I can use.

    Part of me is surprised I made it through high-school. I considered taking my own life more than a few times. Two things saved me.

    First, I can be a stubborn son of a bitch. As much as my mother could be insufferable to live with, she did pass on to my sister and I a fighting spirit. Any time I thought of quitting I'd draw on that and tell the world it wasn't going to beat me.

    Second, books saved my life. If I hadn't had those imaginary worlds to fall into for an escape then I don't know if any amount of fighting spirit would have been enough.

    It wasn't until I reached college that I started coming out of my shell. I met a new group of friends, still somewhat jerks but an improvement from the last group, and I started realizing that I was worth giving a damn about. It took me most of my twenties to figure that out.

    Again, thank you for sharing. Oh, and if any bullies come calling on you don't feel the need to lash out. Just point them out to me and I'll glower at them until they run away. :)

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  11. Lou and Kris, thanks so much for sharing. These stories aren't easy to speak about, but I really appreciate it. Our experiences connect us.

    Lou - I've seen spousal abuse and it's not pretty. I'm very glad you got out of that and are pursuing your own passions. Kudos! And thanks for the kind words I changed a lot, on purpose, and feel like myself now. So maybe this is who I was always meant to be! It's empowering realizing that we do have some control over our lives and outlook, even if choosing the one that works for us can be hard, sometimes.

    Kris - I'm glad you're a stubborn son of a bitch! ;) Seriously though, although I've never had those thoughts, I have very close friends who have or did, and I sympathize. It speaks to your personal strength and conviction that you're still here for all of us to enjoy your company. And I'll take you up on that offer, if ever I need too! :D

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