Recently, I was having a conversation with my roommate, and the topic of bullying came up. At first, it was lighthearted, and I was going through the times that I could remember being bullied throughout my school years, but it wasn’t long before it took a different turn. I wouldn’t say a dark turn because there were no tears involved, or alcohol or binge watching anything on Netflix — but it made me realize how much I put up with through the years, and why I’m the way that I am.
Just as a disclaimer, this isn’t going to be me crying about the times I’ve been bullied. But this isn’t going to be an inspirational story about how I overcame all the rude comments that were thrown my way. Because, honestly, I haven’t. I struggle every day in trying to decide what I’m going to wear, how I’m going to do my hair, or if my makeup makes me look presentable enough. I can’t take a selfie that I like; in fact, I don’t think I ever have. And every time I walk past a group of people who are laughing or talking amongst themselves, I know it’s about me.
The first experience I had with bullying was in preschool. It wasn’t really bullying, at least not in the way that most people would define it, but it hurt me at the time and has stuck with me to this day. My father is a police officer, and a boy who was in my class had a father who was also a police officer. No big deal, right? Except it was, because this little boy lived in the trailer that was located on the school property (every school had a cop who lived on the property) and decided to rub it in my face every day. He told me that his dad was a better cop, and that he didn’t have to wake up as early as me or have to wait to be picked up at the end of the day. And really, looking back on it, I have to laugh. Because why would it hurt my feelings? By no means was my house big, but it had more to offer than his did. Still, it’s the only thing I can remember from those years, and I can remember how much it upset me to wake up and face him each day.
In first or second grade, two of my friends made fun of the way I walked. In the third grade, some kid spit in my water bottle when I went to talk to the teacher. Throughout elementary school, I was teased for my name and ended up hating bananas because of it. I was also teased for my hair – it was frizzy and hard to manage, so I always wore it in a ponytail. And in fifth grade, the entire group of kids who helped with the yearbook laughed over a picture of me that I didn’t know existed until my friend informed me, which apparently showed my training bra.
Middle school was worse. I was going through my “awkward stage,” like we all do. For all three years, I was called fat and ugly. I came home crying most days. I hated talking to my mom about my day at school because that was all I could focus on. Every boy I liked either had a crush on my best friend or told people that I was ugly when they would mention that I liked him.
And in high school… Well, I guess it got better. I joined the marching band and actually lost weight rather than gained it. I was tanner than I ever had been and, in some ways, happier. I had two boyfriends, one my sophomore year and the other from junior to senior year, and they were great. They never put me down and hated when I would put myself down, but I couldn’t help it.
And I still can’t. I hate seeing pictures of myself. I’d rather take a picture of what I’m doing than me actually doing it. And to take a selfie, I have to spend the time fixing my hair and makeup until I think I look decent, only to get sick of the photo a few days later.
Being able to put my feelings down and share them brings me a sense of relief, a peace that I didn’t know was possible. I know there are people who feel the same way, and this is what saddens me. No one should have to feel bad about themselves or feel like they have to live up to other people’s expectations. And if you’re reading this, do what makes you happy. Wear whatever you want to, do your hair however you want to, and go without makeup if you want to. I can’t promise that I’m going to take my own advice, but I can promise that I’ll try.
*A quick side note: A few of the boys who used to make fun of me in middle school have tried to contact me on more than one occasion for a certain type of pictures (you all know what I mean). So, the moral of the story is: maybe those of us that are put down might be some of the hottest people out there.
HCXOXO,
Anna Welch