Bullying

Essay 9

January 15, 2024

I woke up in tears today.  I felt myself making quick, short huffing noises as my wife pulled me tighter to her.  It was 6am.  She asked me if I was okay, and as I became fully conscious, the tears began to flow freely as I recalled my dream. 

I was standing in line somewhere in public, and a stranger was standing behind me, basically leaning against me.  This was the second line I was standing in, with the same stranger taking up my personal space, seemingly unaware that anyone else existed.  In the first line, I had just ignored it, irritated, but not reacting.  The second time, when I realized it was the same person, I turned around and politely asked, “Hi, could you please give me a little space?”  I was immediately met with outrage, a personal attack about my appearance, and a smug little grin.  I was shocked, and it hit a nerve, at which point I started to wake.

My dreams often show me my blockages – things I haven’t fully addressed, that I need to revisit from my past, process, and release.  As I recalled my dream, I realized my tears were indicative of a deeper issue.  I immediately thought of my childhood and all the bullying I endured at school.  I was an awkward and quiet little girl who lived in a small farm town.  Everyone looked alike and had similar beliefs.  The town was mostly white, Christian, and politically conservative.  If you deviated from that, you were a target.

I stood out, I guess.  I was born to white, Christian, conservative parents, but I was often asked if I was adopted or if my father was not my “real” father.  I had wavy dark hair and olive skin that would tan deeply in the summer.  I was often mistaken for being Hispanic.  I still remember in first grade that people, including my teacher, had asked me if I was related to the one Hispanic boy in our class.

“Why are your arms so hairy?” kids would randomly ask me.  I developed an insecurity about my body hair in elementary school.  In fourth grade, I begged my mom to let me start shaving my legs so that the kids would stop teasing me so much.

“Your eyebrows are like woolly bears.”  We had learned about the caterpillars in school, and that became a new insult about my appearance.  I began overplucking my eyebrows in sixth grade to avoid more comments.  I still remember how painful it was the first time, tears involuntarily streaming down my face, my eyebrow area left red and puffy.

I remember the first time I was called fat.  I was six years old, playing near the swings on the playground at school.  I soon started comparing my size to every other girl in my class.  People today still don’t believe me when I tell them I was a “chubby kid”.  More often now, I am criticized for “eating like a bird” or told “shut up, you’re skinny”, as if I wouldn’t understand them.

And then there were the racist comments.  Somewhere along the way, kids started calling me “The Mexican” or “Hairy Mexican”.  At my waitressing job, in high school, the cooks in the kitchen made up a nickname for me, using what they thought was a clever alliteration with my first name and a racial slur for Hispanic people.  They also gave me a framed photo, which they called a family portrait, of a random Hispanic family that they had found online and pasted my head over one of the people with a sombrero on top. 

I mostly shook off the comments at the time.  I don’t really remember ever responding back.  I also don’t ever recall friends or other classmates coming to my defense.  I felt mostly alone, so I would quietly take the insults and internalize it, thinking there was something wrong with me.  When I went home after school and shared what was said to me, my dad would respond with, “Well, just knock their lights out next time”, and my mom would say, “Don’t tell her that!  Just ignore them.”  There was never really a conversation about it or about my feelings (ever), so I just stopped sharing.

I overcompensated by working very hard in school.  If I wasn’t the pretty girl, I could at least be the smart girl.  Maybe people would love me for that.  I became a perfectionist, getting straight A’s, and winning awards.  Eventually, that turned into a topic of ridicule also, being labeled “teacher’s pet” or “a suck-up”.

Sometimes, we don’t realize how deep the wound goes.  “Death by a thousand cuts” is how I would describe it now.  As I became an adult, my insecurities were massive.  I clung to the first person who told me I was beautiful, seeking the validation I never received.  That eventually turned into an abusive relationship that lasted over 10 years, as I clearly didn’t feel worthy of being treated properly.

Three years ago something started to shift in me.  I met a little girl who was five years old at the time.  She was silly and smart and wonderfully weird.  When I looked at her, I saw myself.  This little girl would eventually become my niece, when I married my wife two years ago.  I felt drawn to this child, and although she was shy, she quickly opened up to me, telling me about how she was scared of the dark and afraid to go to sleep alone at night.  I struggled with sleep and fear of the dark throughout my whole childhood.  We would have our little chats, and I shared with her what had helped me sleep when I was a child.

I watched how her parents would encourage her and ask her about her feelings.  She was free to be who she was, and no one criticized her or teased her for it.  She was surrounded by loving, supportive people.  It made me smile and light up just to watch her and her happiness.  And sometimes, I found myself going home and crying after seeing her, sad for the little girl in me who needed the same support.  My niece is a true blessing in my life, and she may never know how much she helped me to begin connecting with my inner child and healing her, finally giving her the love and acceptance she never had.

Clearly, I still have more work to do.  It saddens me that more of my childhood memories are painful ones than good.  I still remember all of the harsh words and the mean grins that went along with them.  I’m still sad that no one helped me.  I remember the deep loneliness and isolation that kept me dealing with all of my feelings alone.  But I’m working on letting it all go, knowing now that my self-worth is not dictated by the opinions of others.

As I meditated this morning, I heard, “What God has created, no one can destroy.”  The love and strength in me comes directly from the Source, and I will continue turning my pain into compassion and empathy for others. 

Be kind to one another.

Love,

Phoenix Rising