From Shadows to Strength: A Journey Through Bullying and Healing
I was really surprised to learn that being bullied as a child was considered an Adverse Childhood Experience. I was bullied many times by different people throughout my childhood. I believed it was just a part of life. No adults in my life ever stepped in to stop it, so why would I think otherwise?
In primary school, due to an ongoing health issue beyond my control, children started treating me as though I had a disease they could catch. It began innocently enough when it was my turn to catch a tummy bug that was going around. A friend had said that if we touched the ground and said, “Bugs-proof all my life,” others wouldn’t catch it. But this stuck. Throughout my primary years, I constantly heard it. If a child had to partner with me or sit next to me, they would perform this “ritual” to protect themselves from my supposed germs.
The boys were worse than the girls, particularly a small group of them. Three boys from my class, along with a younger cousin of theirs—whom I didn’t even know—turned this into a sport they seemed to enjoy greatly. During break times, they chased me and cornered me. The four of them would surround me, chanting the phrase repeatedly, looking at me like I was a freak and calling me names.
I often wonder now why I always gave them this sport and ran. What would they have done if I’d just stood my ground? This happened most days, and no one ever stepped in to stop it.
But worse than this group was a lone boy who bullied me in a much harsher way. He was small, slight, and an extremely angry little thing. What he lacked in size, he made up for in seething rage. All the other boys were afraid of him. Looking back, something was clearly very wrong in his home.
He hated me with a passion. I was often sat next to him during music lessons, and as everyone sang, he would tell me under his breath how much he hated me. He would reel off all the ways he planned to hurt me after school. I would cry. When I tried to tell the teacher, she would shoo me away, uninterested.
These were not idle threats. He would wait for me behind bushes, jump out, and kick me in the stomach. This was even witnessed by the lollipop lady, who did and said nothing.
On the odd occasion when I hit back, I would get into trouble. A big fuss was made for other children who were bullied at our school, even a little. But to this day, I cannot understand why no one seemed to care when it was me.
I told my parents. I once asked my dad why they didn’t do anything to stop it. He told me he had spoken to the school, but if they wouldn’t act, there was nothing more that could be done. Again, the message to me was clear: accept it.
Many of the teachers didn’t like me. I struggled to concentrate and talked too much. I was often sat at a table by myself or outside the class. The way the teachers treated me, I’m sure, confirmed to the kids that it was acceptable to treat me this way also.
When we moved to high school, things were mostly better. The bullies moved on and seemed to leave me alone. But every now and then, a group of older girls—often dealing with their own insecurities—would pick on me. I probably made it worse because I was loud and excitable with my friends. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, stay small and quiet, even if I’d wanted to.
Of course, I’m no angel. I’ve been the bully myself—teasing taken too far with a slightly younger child. Feeling in control. The bullied becomes the bully. It’s not something I’m proud of, and those moments haunt me with guilt and regret. But even then, adults stepped in, and I was called to the head teacher’s office. It was short lived and ended very abruptly. I was left ashamed and confused. Wasn’t this just part of life? Why was it okay for this to happen to me but not to others?
Even as a young adult, I’ve had bosses who were bullies. I chose to become self-employed to avoid dealing with them.
I wonder, do those children—now adults—feel guilt? Like me, do they find themselves reflecting on the past? Are they parents now? Were their children bullied, if so do they feel guilt? I suspect not.
One of my old bullies is now a friend on Facebook. I don’t know why I added him or keep him there. He’s now a nurse with a lovely family. By all accounts, he seems like a nice guy. Perhaps I’m waiting for an apology that will never come. Or maybe I want to show him he didn’t break me. Does he even care? Probably not.
What’s confusing to me is that it hasn’t affected me more. I credit that to my best friend. Her unwavering connection through it all helped me immensely. Of course, it has left scars. Outwardly, I can seem confident, but the slightest negative feedback, rejection, or blame can trigger me back into feeling bullied again. I retreat, shut down—running away, cornered once more, afraid.
But I’ve discovered, through my own IFS work and trauma coaching, that I have a strong dissociative part that has protected me. This part has helped me survive, and I’m grateful for it.
As I reflect on these experiences, I realise they shaped me in profound ways. They taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of speaking up when something isn’t right. While the scars remain, they are a reminder of my strength and the journey I’ve undertaken to heal.
I often think about what I would say to my younger self if I could. I’d tell her that it’s not her fault, that she’s not alone, and that one day she’ll use these experiences to help others. I’d tell her to keep going, that brighter days are ahead, and that she will grow into someone who can hold space for others who feel unseen, unheard, or cornered.
Bullying leaves marks, but it doesn’t have to define us. Healing is possible, and we can choose to rewrite the narrative, turning pain into purpose.
For anyone reading this who has experienced similar struggles—know that you are not alone. You are worthy of kindness, understanding, and respect. And no matter how broken things may feel, you have the strength to heal and rise again.
Thank you for allowing me to share my story. It’s been part of my healing, and I hope it can be part of yours too.
