автор: mitkoeapostolov

Many people have been bullied as kids. Most of them later admit this has had major impact on the outcome of their lives – usually negative. I was bullied as a child. For many years I hated the bullies and dreamt of revenge. Until today.


When I was 7 my mom signed me up for national folk dancing. “But mom, dancing is for girls” I said and I meant it. I dreamed of going to soccer practice. I wasn’t brave enough to defend my position and this is how I started national folk dancing.


I was a small, thin kid, very shy. I came from a good school, where most students had exemplary behavior. My family was middle class. Unexpectedly, the other boys at the national folk dancing came from the fringe schools of town or nearby villages. Most of them were bigger and stronger than me. They were lower middle or lower class. These differences in themselves don’t necessarily lead to certain outcomes (as I was in similar circumstances later in life and had a different experience). But in this case they did.


One time I said that I liked something very much. One of the village kids (let’s call him John) picked up on that and started calling me by this thing. He pronounced it with derision so it sounded mean and belligerent. Soon the other children followed until everyone was using the derogatory nickname instead of my real name. It felt depersonalizing and humiliating, especially when iterated by girls and especially when I had sympathy for those girls.


The climax of this process came during a trip to Brno, the Czech Republic. All of us boys stayed in the same dorm. The first night I went to bed, but couldn’t fall asleep – it is difficult for me to relax in an unfamiliar setting. Some time after lights out I heard a whisper. I recognized my nickname. I figured the other kids were up to something. Someone turned the light back on. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Everyone circled my bed. John came to my side and poured a glass of water in the middle of the bed. I heard a mass cackle then everyone went back to bed.


I didn’t blink the whole night, afraid I would be attacked again. In the morning, when everyone else woke up, John came to my bed, lifted the covers and pointed to the big wet spot in the middle of the bed. “Look – John shouted my nickname – he peed himself”. The other kids circled the bed and started laughing in an exaggerated manner, pointing to the stained sheet. It felt like the ultimate humiliation.


I am proud of myself that I mustered the courage to speak out. Sorta. “You poured water in my bed last night” – I said, which ruined the bullies’ pleasure. They were hoping to make me believe I actually wet the bet myself, so I could feel ashamed. I spent the rest of the trip in absolute terror, barely getting any sleep.


I complained to my parents upon return to my hometown. I didn’t mention the “wet the bed” story. I only shared about the nickname. I said I wanted to stop dancing.


My mom then spoke to the woman who was in charge of the dance troupe. She in turn communicated with John’s parents. I was then shocked to have him come to me one day and pretend to defend me from the other kids calling me by my nickname.


I don’t know why, but I didn’t stop dancing. Time passed. John dropped out of the troupe. One by one the kids that remained stopped calling me by my nickname and started using my real name. I gradually gained respect – mostly from myself for sticking with a difficult situation. By the time I finished school I was one of the main dancers – universally respected and liked.


One would think that since I knew well how much it hurt to be bullied, I would never bully someone else. Wrong. During my first year of college I met a new friend (let’s call him Michael). I hung out with him a lot and had a great time. Then Michael started coming out as bisexual, then as gay. I abruptly changed my attitude. I projected on him all my insecurities and all the hurt from my personal bullying trauma. I viewed him as weak and unacceptable. I started to say mean things, often “joking” that we should beat him up, while he was in the room. Everything felt natural and deserved.


While I felt so justified to bully someone else, I felt very strongly about the injustice of my own bullying experience. I often fantasized of going back in time and revenging my young and vulnerable self. The feeling persisted even through therapy. Until today. Out of nowhere it seems (but after 7 years of therapy) I finally understood. The kids calling me names and bullying me was not the root of my issue. It was its symptom.


The real problem was that I was bullied by my parents. I was so afraid of them that I didn’t dare be a child. I was forced to be a perfect student and a perfect human being without any freedom to display my dark side, to play around, to lie, to cheat – all things that little kids like to experiment with. Early on in my childhood I had to behave like an adult.


Kids who are afraid of their parents and are unable to defend their personal space from them are usually those that bully or get bullied – some externalize the fear, others internalize it. Often, if you have the courage to stand up to your parents, who appear very big and powerful to you, you will certainly not have the need to put other kids down, nor would you allow someone else to disrespect you.


So I figured my bully-bullied situation was not exactly what it had seemed on the surface. The message the other kids were trying to deliver to me was actually very sweet and caring – “Stop fawning to your parents, fight for yourself, grow a personality. If you do that, we will stop bullying you and you will have a much more balanced and happy life as an adult”.


I did finally step up to my parents, albeit when I was 37. It was at this point that I was able to see all sides of the situation. I felt shock and awe. I felt empowerment. I believe it would now be difficult for someone to bully me (although surely not impossible) as I have developed a natural instinct to stand up for myself.


A few years ago I reached out to Michael. I apologized for bullying him. Surprisingly, he answered in a polite and sweet tone, accepting my apology and taking part of the responsibility by saying he was also behaving annoyingly at the time.


Today I wish I could meet John. I want to give him a warm hug and say “thank you for trying to help me”. I would then most certainly punch him in the face.