Bullying

I read Tanya’s posting and had to move away from it.  As I ‘heard’ the small voice of her son, torrents of memories flooded back into my awareness of a time, not-so-long-ago, when her voice would have been my own.  Although the difference would have been in my son being the one in the schoolyard being harassed/bullied/harmed, both would have been victims.

I took my time.  Had a shower… stared at my face in the mirror, noticing how empty were the eyes that stared back at me… wandered slowly through the house locating purse, laptop, boots, etc… determining that my ride to the office would give me breathing space.

Still very fresh – more than 10 years later – were the memories of countless trips to the school to see the principal… or this teacher.. or that teacher… because yet one more time, my son had been ganged-up on, in the schoolyard.  Perhaps my strongest memory is of that time when he was 9 and in  private school (thinking, foolishly, that somehow this would be better!); making my first trip to a new principal’s office… seeking resolution on a situation where a 15YO had isolated my son at a yard entrance and threatened to beat him up if he ever used that entrance again.  The principal’s approach was one of ‘leave them alone and they’ll work it out’.  I think not!  A 15YO and a 9YO would not be working this out, at all.  Particularly when I discovered that the older child had been expelled from several other schools due to violence.

Her approach was “Boys will be boys… and we just need to let them work things out”.  Just goes to prove that a PhD doesn’t make you smart.

So, we had a chat.  I spent years having chats with people who – in my opinion/experience/etc. – could not/would not see what was under their nose.  Was it their vision?  Or was it the perceptual filters of their own histories that made it impossible for them to see?

As I read Tanya’s words, I was keenly aware of a few things.  I was grateful my sons are now in their 20’s and have acquired skills to manage their lives, differently.  During those many and varied, very trying times, I would sit by myself in my office and weep at my sense of helplessness in making their lives different.  I would cry for my sons, for the other sons, and for the misery in their small lives.

I felt such compassion and deep respect for Tanya, knowing only too well what she was moving through and knowing, sadly, that it would not be the last time.

I felt rage… knowing that one child needing to assault another – for any reason! – was an acquired skill!  One that came from witnessing or experiencing the same in their own lives.  One fueled by fear and/or shame and/or the boundless determination NEVER to be the victim in their own lives.

As much as I do not know the answer, I do know what the answer is NOT.  Resolution does not lie in looking the other way in the schoolyard.  It does not lie in philosophies of ‘boys will be boys’ and we need to let them work it out!  It does not lie in pretending it’s not happening, or changing the subject, or teaching our children to lie or hide.

Like any other mother – whether her son is the bully or the bullied – I want my children to be able to love who they are.  Self-loathing is a recipe for a disastrous life; a life of pain inflicted on self and/or other.  For me, I believed that what I could do was teach my sons – by example and not philosophy – that as much as I could not control the world ‘out there’, I could control my responses to it.  I could say ‘no’.  I could make requests… and keep making them until I got what I wanted!  I could create alternatives to what was being offered.  And when they were very young, I knew that I could choose to stand with them when they made the choice to stand alone.

My sons were taught that because someone is older and taller it does not make them smarter or right.  They were taught “Trust yourself.  Think for yourself.  If someone – a teacher, a coach, a daycare worker, etc. – wants you to do something that feels wrong for you to do, say ‘No thank you.”  If they persist, say “No thank you – and please call my mother.”  And then, it was up to me to show up and run interference in a way that honored me, honored him and respected the people around me.  It wasn’t always easy, it wasn’t always fun AND it was always necessary.

Perhaps in those moments it was not about the immediate outcome because there were lots of times when it sucked!  Perhaps it was about the next breath… how they would choose to take it, or not… and who they would give themselves permission to become.

I think I’ve rambled enough, now.  I need a good cry.

Tanya, you are not alone.

Breathing is good…..