Have you ever seen Charlie Brown? Every time Lucy convinces him to kick the football, he tries but she pulls it away. Once upon my childhood, I was Charlie Brown. Recess started with me staring out the window, steeling myself – “I’m ready today. No matter what, I will not be bothered. Words are just words.”
Three times a day, five days a week; a sickly familiar feeling probably only understood by those who have also been bullied. I’d venture out valiantly, yet a few minutes and a cruel comment later, I would crumble. The barbed words didn't just sting, they seared me and I still have scars. Recently I was reminded that I am not healed. One minute I was buying concealer and the next I was face to face with a girl who bullied me in elementary school. A part of me wanted to forget, to meet her recognition with a hello, while the rest of me fumed. The angry little girl with her smouldering stare won. I said nothing, I walked away. That thirty second encounter was an emotional flood, and my scars suddenly felt very fresh.
Fascinated by astronomy, history, and genetics, I possessed none of the magical elusive qualities that bestowed grade school popularity. I only found safety in books and music. Words whisked away my worries and the coat tails of each music note enveloped me unfalteringly. The washroom was my most frequented spot; I often sought refuge there to read. Until some well-meaning teacher would arrive to firmly insist that I had to go and get some air. School was a toxic and tainted environment for me rather than a safe place. That air suffocated me with the unrelenting reminder that I didn't fit in, and it deeply affected my sense of mental and emotional well-being at the time. There is not a single teacher or supervisor who ever stopped to ask me "Why do you spend your recess in the bathroom”? I loathed their authority and glowered at their inability to appreciate my pain.
The reality is that bullying amounts to children breaking children. Particularly so with girls, who often engage in psychological abuse. That isn't to say I grew up in an era of unawareness. I sat through countless campaigns, handouts, and school events. But those efforts of a workshop or a slogan on a sticker left me deeply mistrustful. The perspective of hearing that it gets better is needed, but it isn't enough. Those words say hold on even though you have no more strength, endure and your reward will be that the pain eventually ends. It is demoralizing, not enticing.
Allies is what bullied children so desperately need. What they don’t need is to endure another hour long workshop declaring that “Bullying is bad”. I sat through those, infuriated. I felt alone and unheard. I was told “Just be you” and “It gets better”. But I was not told how that would materialize or even when I could expect acceptance. Many times I imagined standing up and screaming at some hapless presenter:
“Do you really think my peers are unaware that bullying me is unacceptable? No, they know that. What they don’t know is how or why to act differently. What they don’t know is just how deep my wounds go.”
Hearing those realities makes people uncomfortable, so instead we have children listen to workshops and adults talk about national strategies.
Speaking of adults, I can never forget how it stunned me to witness parents who defended their child’s inexcusable behaviour instead of owning it. It not only emboldened the bullies, it gave them security to know they were seemingly safe from reprisal. Do I buy the argument that many of these children don’t know what they do is wrong? Absolutely not. They may well not realize the extent of damage they can inflict, but it is ignorant to accept that they simply don’t understand any element of their behaviour as problematic.
If I sound angry, it’s because I still am. I needed help. The ad nauseum notion that the strength I needed was within me, or that children just need to be encouraged differently was not helpful. It was a slap in the face. I needed the school to understand. I needed my erudite educators to facilitate an environment where it was safe for me to share my pain. At 27, I’m an award-winning debater pursuing a career in law. Yet being bullied muted my bubbly extroversion for years; it crushed me. Am I stronger now? Definitely. In fact, I will soon be entrusted to be the advocate for others that I couldn't be for myself. None of that means those years were not hell personified or that I have no hard feelings about my experiences.
Much of this post is an exercise in catharsis, but it is also a plea to anyone involved in education. An anti-bullying campaign cannot consist of just one workshop, a movie, or a slogan on a sticker. It has to be a sustained and integrated module within the curriculum from kindergarten through high school. It is a conversation we need to keep having over and over, but differently than it happens right now. Bullied children need allies. They need tangible outlets, actionable strategies, safe spaces to reflect on their experiences and how they can cope. This is not about a singular event; it is about providing long term tools.
To the kid like me, stuck somewhere between their own mind and their lack of social graces, I know those years are brutal and hellish. I was there. I hope I can help you believe for yourself that some of the clichés are indeed true. That you are most likely among the people who will hold positions of power in your generation, people who will affect actual change. That you can grow to be celebrated for your differences which will indeed become your strength. I can say that because as I look back it leaves me dazed. I’m thinking about that girl who hid in washrooms and seriously, I almost can’t believe it was me. The waiting wasn’t easy, but I’ve grown up to have incredible friends and relationships. In these exceptional people I've found support, acceptance, and an ever ready endorsement for all of my quirks. I’m not quite “fixed", but my friends don’t expect me to be.
