I read a lot about the many people who’ve been bullied
But rarely read of anyone who owns to having done it
Recalling times when I, to my uninterrupted shame
Was cruel for reasons, to this day, that I cannot account for
The meanness of a sibling that we write off just as joking
To people in our classes or our neighbors we tormented
And just as soon forgot as we continued on our journeys
We all know bullies when we see them
Just not when
We are them
I know when I was one. And I still feel the shame, 45 years later. The only redeeming thing about it is that I learned my lesson, and, as far as I consciously recall, have never bullied anyone again. And I taught my boys to be kind, as well.
It has a way of staying with us, I know at least in my case. I wish I had behaved differently than I did.
Me, too. It haunts me. But I learned a hard lesson, and I taught my boys well.
As a mother and teacher, I witness it daily. Heart-breaking.
There’s a dehumanizing element to bullying that’s both heartbreaking and hard to explain as to why we (humans) do it.