Class of 1990!
When I was six years old, we moved from Florida to my parent’s home state of New Jersey where I began first grade midway through the year. I can still remember that snowy winter’s day when I walked into my new classroom, unsure of my surroundings. I still get those nervous, swirly feelings in my stomach in unfamiliar places.
I was a little confused, then horrified during a particularly brutal game of dodgeball where the goal was, apparently, to throw the ball hard and try to hit me. That red rubber ball flying in all directions towards my face was not a pleasant memory. A couple of years later I tried unsuccessfully to show off that I wasn’t an eight-year-old loser by hurling myself off some bars on the playground which ended with a possibly broken, definitely bloody nose.
Soon after, when it was clear I was super sensitive and prone to uncontrollable crying in front of my peers, I was first on the receiving end of some soul crushing teasing which lasted well into high school.
Pale, awkward, and self-conscious, I never felt pretty enough or smart enough or anything enough. I was constantly teased for being too tall, too skinny, too ugly, my nose was too big, my mouth too wide, my chest too flat. When my mom suggested I stand up for myself, I couldn’t find the words to hurt someone else’s feelings.
One classmate taunted me relentlessly for many, many years. I recall him saying, “You are so ugly that even your mother is embarrassed to be seen by you, that’s why she makes you go in your house through the back door!” I’d see him strolling down the hall and immediately my body would tense. I started believing his words and the more I was teased, the less I felt like I deserved to even be alive. I determined that I was worthless and the world would be better without me in it.
During gym class, I was almost always the last one chosen in those horrible schoolyard picks for teams. Bored gym teachers stood with whistles around their necks, not noticing the desperate SOS I sent with my eyes:. PLEASE LET ME OUT OF HERE. I did everything I could to sidestep the torture where I was so afraid of being teased about my lack of athletic ability that I avoided even trying. When we chose spots for softball, I went so far outfield that I was practically in the next town. I spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office “not feeling well” during the hours I was supposed to be in PE.
Oral reports were a particular kind of hell, I’d beg the teacher to let me write a long essay instead. Sometimes it worked but more often than not, it didn’t. Standing in front of a class where I’d be judged as if I had a giant spotlight on my flaws? No thanks! You could see my trembling hands a mile away. To add a little flare, I’d break out in a red rash all over my neck and chest when the anxiety overtook me.
Walking home every day from school, another boy, this one a few years older than me, would tease and taunt me, even hiding behind bushes to jump out. It’s no wonder why, when I got home, I just wanted to escape into a book or sit for hours and draw to escape the torture.
During the first few days of a new class when students picked their seats, I’d always go for the back row, in the corner trying to blend into my surroundings. If by some chance, the teachers seated us alphabetically and I ended up in the middle of the classroom, I’d pull my hair over my face or sit with my hand covering my face. I hated my nose and was teased relentlessly about it for years, usually by the same few boys. The first thing I did as an adult earning money was to have a nose job.
I think about myself back then, just a quiet little kid who loved to read, draw, and write, then later, an introverted adolescent wearing a headgear (the kind that goes around the head) and a mouthful of braces, then a teenager who longed to fit in realized she never would, then an adult who has anxiety and a desire to be liked and sidestep confrontation. And now, a middle-aged mom who has tremendous empathy for those who don’t quite fit in. I hope that I’ve instilled in my own children to be kind and not tease or mock other kids because the long-term effects of cruel words can last well beyond the school years.
I found this article:
“New research from the Lancet medical journal could explain why these childhood scars have never fully healed, as the study found that childhood bullying has negative long-term mental health effects on young people. The researchers found that kids who are bullied are at a higher risk of having mental health issues later in life than children who are abused in some way by adults. Bullied children are five times more likely to suffer from anxiety and twice as likely to suffer from depression and self-harm than children mistreated by adults.”
and this:
“It really does knock your self-esteem and how you approach people,” Dr. Wolke told ATTN:. “If you get bullied for a long time, you don’t trust other people. We also found in a different study that you’re less likely to [be able to] work in teams, to find a partner, to trust others, [and more likely to] leave a job sooner because you don’t like the conflict.”
and:
“[Bullying is] a campaign to make someone miserable,” Bazelon said. “That’s what’s associated with higher levels of depression, suicidal thinking, and anxiety even 20 years later.” (source)
Thankfully, I didn’t turn into a bully myself which sometimes happens to people who are the recipients of prolonged teasing. I’m still an ultrasensitive person who does not enjoy conflict and my pulse quickens a little when I sense I’m about to be mocked though now I can handle some good natured teasing. But only just a little.
Being picked on so much as a kid and teen taught me to have great empathy for anyone who is considered an underdog. Not fitting in, feeling awkward and nervous, suffering from social anxiety, I completely understand if this is the language you speak, it’s my specialty!
Any person or group who is discounted for being different, I’ve got your back. I see you, I hear you and I value your very being because you have something special and different to offer the world which may not be obvious to the casual observer. I’ve found, through my own experience, that people who are quirky and unusual are often the most interesting and many times, the most creative. These people also understand without saying a word, what it’s like to not fit in and are extremely accepting.
I love this (read the full article here):
“Quirk theory: Many of the differences that cause a student to be excluded in school are the same traits or real-world skills that others will value, love, respect, or find compelling about that person in adulthood and outside of the school setting.”
YES.
I’d love to know if you, dear reader, were the kid who, like me, walked into the cafeteria grasping a cafeteria tray like a lifeline, looking around for a place to sit only to find the only open spot was a seat at an empty table with your books for company. If you were the kid who, during a field trip, got to sit next to the teacher on the bus.
Tell me if you, as an adult, are keenly aware of others because you’ve been through the roughest warfare which was high school, traveling the halls as a self- described dork or a loner. Can you read a person’s emotions like a book thanks to your highly skilled training as an outcast? And if this is the case, did you turn out to be empathic to others? Because I see this as being maybe a blessing wrapped in what was a curse. I’d never wish to be younger again solely based on my experiences, but I’d also not want to live without the sensitivity and empathy that makes me a caring and accepting adult.
