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Join Holly as she searches east Auckland for love and connection.
In which Holly remembers her bullies.
When my therapist and I have a good old spelunk through the depths of my subconscious, Reader, there’s one rock that we trip over time and time again: bullying.
The rock will remain a hard composite of core memories, even though I’ve forgiven most of those who’ve bullied me.
At five, I was picked on for being a minority and for having a young, working mother.
Years later, I’m glad to know that at least two of my primary school bullies grew up with enough sense to spit out the small, bitter ideas they were fed as children.
Now parents themselves, they initiate meaningful family conversations about issues like empathy and acceptance.
At eleven, V was one of my best friends… or so I thought.
I discovered otherwise at intermediate school camp. When she didn’t turn up for her rostered chore, I decided to do it for her so she wouldn’t get in trouble.
Unfortunately, a teacher caught me and praised me publicly for being a team player.
Triggered by this, V spent over an hour badmouthing me to our entire dorm room, as I cried myself to sleep.
She would continue to pick on me for the rest of the year.
(Side note: I feel lucky to be old enough to have had a smartphone-free childhood. This ensured some respite – home was a safe space, where my bully could not access me. Although I believe there are some rather gaping holes in the government’s current proposal for a social media ban for under-16s, I’ll be watching with interest as this develops.)
I know now that there was probably a lot of sadness behind V’s cruel behaviour.
Perhaps she was motivated by feelings of inferiority and guilt, or maybe someone had treated her that way.
I think back to how defensive, deceptive, and mean she was at just 12 years old, and I can find some grace for her.
I’ll never forget the sting of what she said and did, but I hope that, to some degree, she has.
There’s a proverb that says: “The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.”
What I understand, years later, is that she wasn’t just the axe – she was a tree, too.
I’m convinced of one thing: bullying is never just a case of “kids being kids”.
A child (or adult) who has their physical and emotional needs met rarely feels an ongoing need to victimise someone else.
While we can all be thoughtless or unkind from time to time, man is a social animal.
Call me naive, Reader, but I honestly believe we’re born to be good to one another.
Visit www.pinkshirtday.org.nz for useful resources about bullying prevention.
Email holly@times.co.nz
Yours in love,
Holly
