Bullies

Raven Ambrose
Aug 5
32 min read

Updated: Sep 18

Bullies are the 👿

What is considered being a bully?

Bullying is a multifaceted behavior that can manifest in a variety of forms, each with its own distinct characteristics and consequences. The primary categories of bullying include physical bullying, which involves direct physical harm or intimidation; verbal bullying, characterized by derogatory comments, insults, and threats; social bullying, which aims to damage an individual’s social standing or relationships through exclusion or rumor-spreading; and cyberbullying, which utilizes digital platforms to harass or intimidate individuals. At its core, bullying is defined by a significant power imbalance, where one individual or group consistently targets another, inflicting emotional or physical harm over time. This dynamic can lead to a cycle of fear and anxiety for the victim, who may feel trapped and unable to escape the situation.

The manifestations of bullying can take many shapes and forms, ranging from seemingly minor incidents, such as name-calling and spreading malicious rumors, to more severe actions like physical aggression, threats, or deliberate exclusion from social groups. Each of these behaviors contributes to a hostile environment that can severely impact the mental and emotional well-being of those involved. Recognizing what constitutes bullying is crucial for effectively identifying and addressing it in various settings, including schools, workplaces, and broader community environments. This understanding helps to create a culture of awareness and intervention, essential for mitigating the negative effects of bullying.

In this post, I will share personal stories from my experiences growing up with bullying, providing a deeper insight into the emotional and psychological impact it can have on both the victim and the perpetrator. Reflecting on those formative years, I recall the various dynamics that played out in school settings, where the actions of a few could overshadow the well-being of many. Each encounter was not just a moment of conflict, but rather a complex interplay of emotions, motivations, and consequences. The emotional scars left by bullying can last a lifetime, influencing not only self-esteem and personal relationships but also mental health outcomes, potentially leading to anxiety, depression, and other long-term issues.

It is essential to recognize the signs of bullying, which can sometimes be subtle or overlooked, and to foster an environment where empathy, kindness, and respect are prioritized over aggression and dominance. Creating such an environment requires the collective effort of students, educators, parents, and community members to promote understanding and compassion. By encouraging open dialogue about the effects of bullying and the importance of standing up against it, we can work towards a future where everyone feels safe and valued. Empowering individuals to speak out against bullying and supporting those affected by it is crucial in breaking the cycle of abuse and fostering a culture of inclusivity and respect.

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My Children Will NOT be Bullies

One thing I absolutely cannot tolerate is finding out that one of my children has bullied someone else. The thought of my child inflicting pain on another person is something that deeply disturbs me and sends a wave of anxiety through my mind. As a parent, I feel a profound responsibility to instill values of compassion, empathy, and respect in my children. It is essential for me to guide them toward understanding the importance of treating others with kindness, as I believe that these values are the cornerstone of a harmonious society. Luckily, I haven't encountered too many issues in that regard, as I firmly believe that open communication and comprehensive education about the consequences of such behavior have played a significant role in shaping their understanding. They are aware that if it does happen, they will face serious repercussions, including the loss of their freedom for a considerable period. This serves as a strong deterrent against engaging in such harmful behavior. I have made it abundantly clear that bullying is not just a minor infraction; it is a serious breach of trust and morality that will be met with firm and unwavering consequences.

I don't play around with those situations. My approach is rooted in the belief that accountability is essential for personal growth and development. I strive to create a safe and nurturing space for my children where they can freely express their feelings, thoughts, and concerns. It is crucial for them to understand the profound impact their actions can have on others, especially those who may be more vulnerable. By discussing the importance of empathy and sharing the experiences of those who have been bullied, I hope to cultivate an environment where kindness and understanding prevail. It is imperative to address bullying not only as a behavioral issue but also as a broader societal concern that requires collective action from parents, educators, and community members alike. This means fostering dialogues in schools, promoting anti-bullying programs, and encouraging children to stand up for their peers. Together, we can create a culture that celebrates diversity and inclusivity, where every child feels valued and respected.

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Bully Stories

I would love to hear about your experiences overcoming bullying, as these personal narratives can serve as a beacon of hope and encouragement for many. Sharing stories can be a powerful tool for healing and understanding, not only for those who have endured the pain of bullying but also for those who have witnessed it from the sidelines. Whether you were a victim who faced relentless harassment or a bystander who felt helpless in the moment, your insights can contribute significantly to a broader conversation about this pervasive issue that affects individuals across various age groups and backgrounds. Perhaps even stories from reformed bullies could shed light on the transformative power of empathy and change. Understanding the motivations behind bullying behavior—such as insecurity, a desire for power, or learned behaviors from one’s environment—can provide valuable context. This understanding is crucial in developing effective strategies to prevent bullying and support those who are affected by it. When former bullies share their journeys of reflection and growth, it not only humanizes their experiences but also demonstrates that change is possible. It illustrates that individuals can recognize the harm they have caused and take steps to make amends, ultimately fostering a more empathetic society. By sharing our narratives, we can foster a sense of community and resilience among those who have experienced bullying in any form. Each story holds the potential to empower others to rise above their challenges, illustrating that they are not alone in their struggles. Furthermore, these conversations can promote a culture of respect and kindness, encouraging individuals to stand up against bullying behavior and support one another. In addition to personal accounts, it would be beneficial to include discussions about the various forms of bullying—physical, verbal, social, and cyberbullying—along with their long-lasting effects on mental health and self-esteem. By addressing these different aspects, we can create a more comprehensive understanding of the issue. Moreover, exploring the role of schools, parents, and communities in addressing bullying can lead to actionable solutions. Initiatives that focus on education, awareness, and intervention can significantly reduce incidents of bullying and create safer environments for everyone. Ultimately, the act of sharing experiences not only aids in personal healing but also builds bridges of understanding among diverse groups. It encourages dialogue, empathy, and collective action, all of which are essential in combating bullying and fostering a culture of compassion and support.

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Bullying isn’t a New Age Thing

Growing up, I was forever bullied, and the memories of those experiences have left a lasting impression on my life. I can vividly recall situations from just about every grade, each one etched in my mind like a painful reminder of the struggles I faced. The relentless teasing, the exclusion from social circles, and the feeling of isolation were all too familiar. I’ve heard my own children talk about their experiences with bullying, and while I don’t know the full extent of their stories, I can empathize deeply with what they might be feeling. It’s a cycle that seems to perpetuate itself, as I have also witnessed others being bullied, each incident a stark reminder of the harsh realities that many face during their formative years. My hope for this particular blog is to create a safe space where people can share their stories of bullying, to foster a sense of community and understanding among those who have been affected. It’s crucial for everyone who has experienced bullying to see that they are not alone in their struggles; there are countless others who have walked a similar path. By sharing our stories, we can help to break the silence and stigma surrounding bullying, and perhaps even provide solace and support to those who are currently enduring such hardships. Additionally, it would be incredibly beneficial if both former and current bullies could read these shared experiences. Understanding the impact of their actions on others could lead to greater empathy and awareness. It’s important for them to see the emotional scars that bullying can leave behind, and how it can affect a person’s mental health and overall well-being. I believe that these reflections could serve as a powerful reminder of the importance of kindness and compassion in our interactions with others. Moreover, I suppose those are the very individuals who should also take the time to read my post titled “Mental Health Matters.” In that piece, I delve into the profound effects that bullying can have on mental health, exploring the various ways it can manifest and the long-term consequences it can impose on individuals. By combining our stories with insights into mental health, we can create a more comprehensive understanding of the issue at hand, ultimately working towards a more supportive and inclusive environment for everyone.

## First grade. The asshole story.

I still remember the girl's name, Colleen Stefonowich, as if it were etched in my memory. It was a typical day in first grade, filled with the innocent chaos that often accompanies young children navigating the complex social landscape of elementary school. We were engaged in a heated argument about something trivial—perhaps it was who would get to be first in line for recess or which game we should play during our free time. At that age, emotions run high, and the smallest disagreements can escalate into full-blown conflicts. The classroom buzzed with the energy of youthful voices, laughter, and the occasional outburst, creating a vibrant tapestry of childhood experiences.

As our voices grew louder, I could feel my frustration boiling over like a pot left unattended on the stove. Colleen's rudeness was like a thorn in my side, irritating and persistent, poking at my patience with every word she spoke. In that moment of youthful impulsivity, I decided to express my feelings in the only way I knew how. I scribbled a note, my small fingers clumsily forming the letters with a mix of determination and uncertainty, and boldly called her an "asshole." Why my little first-grade mind thought that was a good idea is beyond me, but I suppose it was a misguided attempt to assert myself and regain some semblance of control over the situation. After all, at that tender age, our critical thinking skills are still in their infancy, and the ability to navigate social interactions is a work in progress, often fraught with missteps and misunderstandings.

Naturally, Colleen, shocked and perhaps a bit amused by my audacity, showed the note to our teacher, a woman whose expression could shift from nurturing to stern in the blink of an eye. The moment I saw her walking toward the front of the classroom with that note in hand, my heart sank like a stone dropped into a still pond. I knew I was in trouble, but I had no idea just how much trouble I was about to face. The teacher, with a stern expression that could quell even the rowdiest of children, took the note from Colleen and read it aloud, her voice dripping with disapproval. This led to an inevitable escalation of events that I could not have anticipated, setting into motion a chain reaction that would leave me reeling.

The teacher's reaction was swift and decisive, her authority palpable as she informed the principal of the incident. I could feel the weight of impending doom settle upon my small shoulders, each step toward the principal's office feeling heavier than the last. The principal, a stern woman with a reputation for being strict and unyielding, called me into her office, a place that seemed to radiate an air of seriousness and consequence. I remember the walk down the hallway feeling like a march to my own execution, my mind racing with thoughts of what my mother would say when she found out about my misbehavior. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered ominously, casting long shadows that mirrored my anxiety.

Sure enough, the principal made a phone call to my mom, and as I sat in the cold, sterile office, surrounded by the starkness of the walls and the uncomfortable chair, I could only imagine the conversation that was unfolding on the other end of the line. If you've read any of my posts about my mom, you'll know that things didn’t end well for me at home after such incidents. My mother had high expectations and a low tolerance for misbehavior, especially when it came to disrespecting others. The fear of what awaited me at home loomed larger than any punishment I could receive at school, a specter that haunted my thoughts and twisted my stomach into knots.

The consequences of that little note would reverberate through my day, casting a long shadow over what should have been a carefree time filled with laughter and play. Instead, I found myself grappling with the realization that my actions had consequences, a lesson that, while painful, was an essential part of growing up. It was a moment that taught me about the importance of choosing my words wisely and the impact they can have on others, even in the heat of the moment. The experience left an indelible mark on my young psyche, a reminder that words, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, hold power and can shape the dynamics of relationships in profound ways. As I sat there, waiting for the inevitable, I began to understand the complexities of human interaction and the importance of empathy, lessons that would resonate far beyond the walls of that first-grade classroom.

## Forth grade: The Family Dynamic Game

In my fourth-grade class, there existed a distinct group of girls who were frequently labeled as the "beautiful" girls, a title that, while seemingly superficial, carried with it a weight of social significance that was palpable even to those of us who were not part of their inner circle. Their names have unfortunately faded from my memory over the years, but the impressions they left behind are indelible. They possessed a certain charisma and magnetism that seemed to draw everyone's attention, making them the focal point of our classroom. Always seen together, they formed a tight-knit circle that felt exclusive, almost impenetrable, to those of us who were on the outside looking in. Their bond was not just about friendship; it was a carefully crafted social structure that dictated the interactions and hierarchies within our class.

As I observed them from the sidelines, it was captivating to witness the unique game they engaged in, which revolved around family roles. In this imaginative play, they referred to one another with affectionate titles such as daughter, sister, and even auntie. This choice of familial terms was not merely whimsical; it held deep meaning and signified the strength of their connections. It was fascinating to see how the dynamics of their friendship played out through these designations; the closer the bond, the more significant the familial title became. For example, a girl who was considered a best friend, someone with whom a deep level of trust and connection had been established, would be lovingly referred to as a daughter or a sister. This hierarchical structure among them was not only a reflection of their relationships but also a way to communicate their feelings and the importance of each role within the group.

As I watched their interactions unfold, I noticed that they were filled with warmth, laughter, and a sense of belonging that was both inviting and, at the same time, painfully exclusive. The role of Auntie seemed to be a title reserved for those who were slightly less integrated into their inner circle, a designation that still suggested a form of familial affection but was clearly a step down from the more coveted roles of sister or daughter. It was a social hierarchy that I was beginning to understand, yet I didn’t fully grasp the implications of these titles and the dynamics at play until I mustered the courage to approach them and ask if I could join in their game.

I vividly recall the moment when I approached the group, my heart racing with anticipation and hope, a mixture of excitement and trepidation swirling within me. However, the response I received was deflating and left me feeling more isolated than ever. One girl turned to me with a look that was a mixture of surprise and reluctance, almost as if my presence was an unexpected intrusion into their world, and said, "Uh yeah, I guess you can be grandma." In that instant, I felt a wave of disappointment wash over me, crashing against the shores of my youthful optimism. Even at that tender age, I was acutely aware that being labeled as "grandma" was not a compliment; it was a connotation of being old or out of touch, someone who was not part of the youthful exuberance that characterized their play. What fourth grader would ever aspire to be seen as grandma? The title felt like a rejection, a clear indication that I was not truly welcome in their circle.

Their casual dismissal of my request to join their game was not just a moment of exclusion; it was a stark reminder of the social dynamics that governed our classroom. They didn’t engage with me intentionally or make any effort to include me in their circle; their response was merely a reflex, a way to address my request without genuinely welcoming me into their fold. It felt as though I had unwittingly put them on the spot, forcing them to acknowledge my presence in a way that they had no desire to do. The laughter and joy that had previously surrounded them now felt like a distant echo, a reminder of the camaraderie that I longed to be a part of but was so painfully excluded from.

In that moment, I understood the implications of their words and actions, and it made me feel profoundly sad. I longed to be part of their world, to share in the laughter and the camaraderie that seemed so effortless for them, but instead, I was left feeling like an outsider looking in. The experience highlighted the complexities of childhood friendships and the often unspoken rules that govern social interactions among peers. The pain of exclusion is a powerful lesson learned early on, shaping our understanding of acceptance and belonging in ways that resonate well beyond the fourth grade. It taught me that social dynamics can be intricate and sometimes harsh, leaving lasting impressions that can influence our relationships and self-perception as we grow older. As I reflect on that time, I realize how formative those experiences were in shaping my understanding of friendship, community, and the importance of inclusivity.

## Fourth grade: Always the One Left Out

I switched schools halfway through fourth grade, a transition that proved to be both daunting and challenging in ways I could not have anticipated at the time. Even at my new school, I found myself grappling with the difficulties of fitting in among a group of students who had been together since their early childhood days in kindergarten. This tight-knit community had built bonds over the years, sharing countless memories, inside jokes, and experiences that I felt completely excluded from. The feeling of being the “new kid” was overwhelming, and it was accompanied by a profound sense of loneliness and isolation that I had not anticipated. Each day felt like a struggle to navigate a social landscape where I was an outsider, observing from the periphery as others easily connected and engaged with one another.

The social dynamics of my new environment were complex and intricate. I often watched as the established groups of friends interacted seamlessly, their laughter echoing in the hallways and classrooms, while I stood silently, yearning to be part of that camaraderie. It was as if I were invisible, a ghost haunting the edges of their vibrant world, and this sensation of exclusion weighed heavily on my heart. I remember the lunchroom vividly, a cacophony of chatter and laughter where I would sit at a table, my food untouched, pretending to be engrossed in my book or doodles, all the while feeling the sharp pangs of longing for connection. Each day that passed without a meaningful interaction deepened my sense of isolation and despair.

One particular incident stands out vividly in my memory, a moment that encapsulates the depth of my frustration and the desperation I felt during that time. It was an ordinary day in class, but my internal turmoil was anything but ordinary. In a moment of impulsive rebellion and emotional distress, I attempted to press the metal rings of my notebook into my arm right in front of the entire class. This act was not just a random outburst; it was a manifestation of my deep-seated feelings of exclusion and a cry for attention in a setting where I felt invisible. I stood up, my heart racing, and shouted something in a fit of anger and despair, although the exact words have sadly faded from my memory over the years. What remains etched in my mind is the vivid image of my determination as I pressed those cold, metallic rings against my skin, trying to make a statement about the pain I was experiencing. It was a desperate act born from a profound need to be seen, to be acknowledged, and to express the emotional turmoil that was festering within me.

The embarrassment of that moment still lingers with me, haunting my thoughts even as I approach my 39th birthday in just a few days. It serves as a reminder of how vulnerable I felt during that time in my life. I look back and wonder how my classmates perceived me in that moment—did they see me as a troubled child seeking attention, or did they simply view me as an oddity? The act itself was desperate, and I can only imagine the looks of confusion and concern on their faces as they witnessed my struggle. In that instant, I felt both exposed and misunderstood, as if I had laid bare my soul to a group of peers who had no context for my pain. The silence that followed my outburst was deafening, amplifying my sense of isolation even further.

Interestingly, I don't recall facing any significant consequences at home for this incident. Usually, moments of rebellion or distress would result in corporal punishment, as my mother was not attentive to my emotional well-being. However, this particular event seems to have faded from my memory, suggesting that perhaps it wasn't treated with the seriousness I felt it deserved. After all, I can clearly remember other instances where I faced consequences for my actions, yet this one remains a mystery. It's possible that my mom, overwhelmed with her own challenges, may not have fully understood the depth of my feelings during that tumultuous time. The lack of a response from her left me feeling even more adrift, as if my emotional state was not worthy of acknowledgment or concern.

In retrospect, I realize that I likely did not receive the sympathy or understanding I craved at that moment. Instead, I was left to navigate the complexities of childhood emotions on my own, grappling with feelings of rejection and the longing for acceptance. This experience has shaped my understanding of social dynamics and the importance of empathy, especially towards those who may be struggling to find their place in a group. It serves as a poignant reminder of how formative experiences during childhood can leave lasting impressions and influence our perceptions of ourselves and our interactions with others throughout our lives. The scars of that time, both emotional and psychological, have lingered, guiding my approach to relationships and my sensitivity towards the struggles of others. I now recognize the profound impact that kindness and understanding can have on someone who feels lost, and I strive to extend that compassion to those who may be navigating their own battles.

## A Field Trip to Remember

It was the same group of girls from my class, and this time we were on a field trip, an outing that was supposed to be filled with excitement and joy. The anticipation of the day was electric, and I can vividly recall the scene as we made our way through the bustling schoolyard. The sun shone brightly overhead, casting cheerful shadows on the pavement and illuminating the vibrant colors of our school uniforms. The air was filled with laughter, animated chatter, and the unmistakable sound of youthful exuberance, and the anticipation of the day's adventures was palpable, swirling around us like a warm breeze. As we walked, I noticed the girls ahead of me, their carefree spirits evident as they skipped along, their laughter ringing in my ears like a sweet melody. It was a sight that should have filled me with happiness, but instead, I felt a pang of exclusion, a heavy weight in my chest that threatened to overshadow the joy of the day.

As I walked, I found myself speaking out loud, perhaps trying to process my feelings or seeking validation from those around me. The person next to me happened to be a parent who was accompanying us on this trip, a kind-hearted individual who was there to help supervise and ensure our safety. In a moment of youthful indiscretion, I blurted out, “What are they, gay or something?” The words escaped my lips before I could fully comprehend their weight or the implications of what I had said. I remember the instant regret that washed over me, but it was too late; the comment had been made, and I could feel the atmosphere shift around me as if the air had thickened with tension.

Naturally, my innocent yet misguided comment did not go unnoticed. The "concerned" parent, perhaps feeling a sense of duty or moral obligation, reported my words to my teacher. Like a pebble thrown into a still pond, the news quickly traveled up the chain of command, reaching the principal, and from there, the repercussions of my thoughtless statement began to unfold with alarming speed. I can still remember the sinking feeling in my stomach as I anticipated the consequences of my actions, the dread coiling tighter and tighter like a noose around my heart.

What followed was a series of events that I would not soon forget. I distinctly recall being called into the principal's office, where I felt like I was standing trial for a crime I didn’t fully understand. The walls felt like they were closing in on me, and my heart raced as I faced my teacher and the principal, both of whom wore expressions of disappointment and concern that felt like daggers piercing my already fragile spirit. I felt small and powerless, and when asked if I had indeed said what the parent claimed, I hesitated, my mind racing. What fourth-grader would have the courage to admit to such a thing in that moment? I instinctively lied, hoping to escape the situation unscathed, wishing I could just disappear into thin air.

The punishment that followed was harsh and unforgiving, leaving an indelible mark on my young psyche. I remember retreating to my room, feeling a mix of shame, fear, and confusion. I hid under my bed, seeking solace in the darkness, wishing the world would simply disappear and that I could bury my head in the sand like an ostrich. But my mother, sensing my distress, came in to confront me. In a moment that felt like an eternity, she grabbed my ankle and pulled me out from my hiding place. I can still feel the chill of dread that washed over me as she yanked my pants down and delivered a spanking that was not just a physical punishment but an emotional one as well, leaving me feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.

Her hand struck me with such force that I felt her ring cut into my skin, leaving marks that would serve as a painful reminder of that day. I was left bleeding, both physically and emotionally, as she left the room, her anger lingering in the air like a storm cloud that refused to dissipate. It was clear that her focus was not on my feelings or the context of my words but rather on the fact that I had said something she deemed unacceptable and that I had "lied" about it when confronted. The sharp sting of her punishment was nothing compared to the deeper hurt of feeling misunderstood and judged.

In that moment, I felt utterly alone and misunderstood, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions that I could not articulate. All of this turmoil stemmed from the fact that my little fourth-grade heart was hurt from being deliberately excluded by those girls I had once considered friends. It was a painful lesson learned in the most harsh of ways, one that would leave a lasting impact on my understanding of friendship, acceptance, and the complexities of growing up. I realized that navigating the intricate social dynamics of childhood was fraught with challenges, and that words, even when spoken in jest, could carry consequences far beyond what I had ever imagined. This experience would haunt me for years to come, shaping my views on empathy and the importance of kindness in a world that often felt so unforgiving.

## 10th Grade: The New Girl

The summer between 9th and 10th grade marked a significant turning point in my life as I made the momentous decision to move to a different state. This transition was not merely a change of address; it was a complete upheaval of my social environment and daily life. Leaving behind the bustling environment of a big city, filled with the constant hum of activity, I transitioned into a small city that felt worlds apart. To put it into perspective, the entire county where I relocated seemed to be roughly the same size as my previous city, which was a jarring realization. The small city I moved to had only one high school, a stark contrast to the multitude of high schools that filled my native city, where options seemed endless and the competition for social acceptance was fierce. In fact, there were more high schools in my former city than there were in this entire county, which truly illustrated the scale of my new surroundings and the drastic shift in my social landscape. This new school was considerably smaller, with a student body that had grown up together, forming tight-knit friendships that I could feel from the moment I stepped into the building. Initially, I was labeled as “the new girl in a small town,” a title that carried a certain novelty, but it also came with the weight of expectation and the challenge of integration.

However, as time passed and my distinctiveness became more apparent, the initial curiosity faded, and I found myself increasingly isolated. The friendly smiles that greeted me at first began to wane as the familiarity among the other students deepened, leaving me feeling like an outsider looking in. It was during this challenging period of feeling out of place that I met a girl who would change the course of my summer. She had striking blond hair that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight and captivating blue eyes that sparkled with a mix of mischief and charm, and her demeanor was sweet and inviting—at least at first. This girl had recently moved in with her grandmother for reasons that were never disclosed to me, but we quickly formed a bond over our shared status as newcomers in this unfamiliar territory. Our mutual feelings of being outsiders created an instant connection, as we both sought solace in each other's company amidst the sea of established friendships.

As we spent more time together, it became evident that her charm and looks quickly garnered her popularity within the school. She had a magnetic personality that drew people in, and soon enough, she became the center of attention among our peers. Since I was her friend first, I also experienced a brief surge in social standing, which was a thrilling change from my previous situation of feeling invisible. I even found myself dating one of the boys from the baseball team, which added to my newfound social status and made me feel like I was finally fitting in. I remember allowing her to use my locker when she hadn’t received one yet; however, this act of kindness would later backfire when she locked me out of it, a moment that would symbolize the beginning of the unraveling of our friendship. Our bond blossomed as we sat together at lunch, walked to classes side by side, and shared secrets that made us feel like sisters, creating memories that I thought would last a lifetime.

Then one fateful day, she suggested, “Hey, let’s skip school. My uncle lives not far, and he has alcohol.” The thrill of adventure and the desire to maintain our friendship compelled me to agree without much thought. The idea of breaking the rules was exhilarating, and my teenage self, eager to embrace this new chapter of my life, was willing to do anything to keep that bond strong. We skipped the first part of the school day, feeling a rush of adrenaline as we made our way to her uncle's place, only to return just before lunch to avoid detection. On our way back, we unexpectedly ran into a senior I thought was somewhat cute, a boy who had caught my eye with his easy smile and laid-back demeanor. Although I had only spoken to him a few times, she managed to persuade him to join us on our little escapade, adding another layer of excitement to our rebellious adventure. We kept our plans a secret from everyone, including my boyfriend, which in hindsight was a significant mistake that would have consequences I wasn’t prepared for. The thrill of secrecy made the experience feel even more exhilarating, but as I would soon learn, the choices we make in our youth can often lead to unforeseen challenges and heartaches.

The walk to her uncle’s house was surprisingly short, just a few blocks from where we had started. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixed with the earthy aroma of freshly mowed grass, creating an oddly pleasant backdrop for what was about to unfold. Upon arrival, I discovered that her uncle’s living space was modest and sparsely decorated. The walls were adorned with a few family photos, and the furniture was well-worn but comfortable. Despite the lack of material possessions, he had managed to stock up on grain alcohol, a choice that seemed both reckless and intriguing to me. Alongside the alcohol, there was a large, colorful bag of Doritos, which stood out as a curious snack choice for the evening. Having never consumed alcohol before, I felt a swirl of apprehension mixed with a bubbling curiosity. The thought of tasting something so forbidden was both exhilarating and terrifying. We started taking shots, each one more daunting than the last, as we attempted to wash down the harsh, burning sensation of the alcohol with the salty, crunchy Doritos. The experience was overwhelming; each shot seemed to amplify my senses while dulling my rational thought. I quickly realized that I had consumed far more than I could handle, the world around me beginning to spin slightly as I tried to maintain my composure. We settled into the living room, the atmosphere charged with a sense of reckless abandon. Soon, the three of us—her, the boy who had joined us, and her uncle—decided to play a game of truth or dare, a seemingly innocent choice that escalated quickly into something far more chaotic. When it was my turn, I chose truth, and she asked me the question that would change the course of the night: if I was a virgin. I responded honestly, saying yes, which seemed to shock her, her eyes widening in disbelief. The boy, sensing the tension in the air, then dared me to go into the bathroom and perform a sexual act on her. In my drunken state, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through my veins, I foolishly agreed, not fully grasping the gravity of my decision. The situation spiraled out of control when she dared me to have sex with the boy instead. Initially, I hesitated, a wave of uncertainty washing over me. However, her relentless encouragement and the intoxicating effects of the alcohol wore me down. Thankfully, her uncle had condoms, which only added to the absurdity of the moment, as if we were playing out some twisted version of a teenage fantasy. To my dismay, she unexpectedly walked into the room while it was happening, leaving me feeling utterly exposed and ashamed. My first experience, which I had always imagined would be romantic and special, was anything but that; it was chaotic, unplanned, and filled with a sense of regret that I would carry with me long after that night.

After our ill-fated adventure, we made our way back to school, where I unexpectedly ran into my boyfriend, who had been waiting for me. The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming smell of alcohol on me, a pungent reminder of the night’s escapades that I could not hide. In a panic, I hastily concocted a story about where we had been, omitting the more scandalous details to protect myself from his inevitable judgment. The girl and I shared a class that day, a relaxed environment where students typically chatted rather than focused on lessons. My boyfriend, clearly concerned about my well-being, advised me to keep my head down and avoid talking to anyone, a suggestion I complied with, though I could feel the weight of my actions pressing down on me. However, she did not heed the same caution, her carefree attitude only adding to my anxiety. Underestimating our teacher's discretion, she began openly discussing our drunken escapade, her laughter ringing out in the classroom. Little did we know, our teacher took this information seriously, considering it a matter that required attention. The implications of our actions began to unfold when the lunch bell rang, and we were called to stay behind. Soon after, a stern security guard escorted us to the office, where we were met by police officers armed with breathalyzer tests, their expressions serious and unyielding. The results were not in our favor, the alcohol still lingering in my system, and as a consequence of our reckless behavior, we were suspended from school for two weeks. The weight of the punishment felt heavy, a stark reminder of how quickly a night of poor choices could lead to significant repercussions.

My mother, who normally administered corporal punishment as a means of discipline, chose to forgo that approach this time. Instead, during those two long weeks of confinement to my room, I found myself in a world of solitude where I spent countless hours engrossed in reading and writing. It was during this period of isolation that I began to pour my emotions and thoughts into poetry, a creative outlet that would later serve as a cathartic release for my pent-up feelings. I plan to share some of those poems in a separate blog post, as they encapsulate the depth of my experiences and the turmoil I was navigating. Little did I know, while I was grounded and reflecting on my life, the girl who had instigated this entire situation was spreading her own version of events throughout the school. Her narrative not only distorted the truth but also tarnished my reputation further, painting me in a negative light among my peers. While I sat in isolation, grappling with the emotional fallout, she seemed to be enjoying what could only be described as a vacation of sorts during her suspension, free from the consequences of her actions.

When I finally returned to school, the aftermath was nothing short of devastating; I had lost not only my boyfriend but also most of my friends, who had chosen to believe the tales she spun rather than seek the truth. Her actions had dragged my name through the mud and left me feeling utterly humiliated, as if I would never recover from the emotional scars that had been inflicted. Fortunately, there were only a couple of months left in the school year, which provided me with a finite timeline to endure the torment. As summer approached, I began to learn that during my time away from the social scene, the girl had started to reveal her true colors to the town. By the time I entered 11th grade, many of the students who had once treated me poorly began to come forward, offering apologies and expressing regret for their previous behavior. They had come to realize that she was not the good person she had pretended to be, and they discovered that she had spread unkind lies about me that were completely unfounded.

Though I never rekindled friendships with the group of kids my ex-boyfriend hung out with, I eventually found a few friends who accepted me for who I truly was, and that was more than enough for me. The remainder of my time at that school was relatively peaceful compared to the chaos I had previously endured, but I still carried the emotional scars from those months of torment. Reflecting on those two weeks of being grounded, I am grateful that I didn’t succumb to the dark thoughts and feelings of despair that plagued me during that isolating time. The anxiety of the outside world weighed heavily on my mind, but perhaps it was the poetry I wrote that helped me cope with my feelings and provided me with a sense of purpose. Regardless of the challenges I faced, I am thankful to be here today, able to share my story and the lessons I learned from that tumultuous experience. It has shaped me into a stronger individual, one who understands the importance of resilience and the power of self-expression through art.

## A Reflection on Choices and Consequences

Funny story? I only recall two of the girls from my school days, each of whom took very different paths in life, paths that were shaped by their choices and circumstances. One of them became a mother at a relatively young age, and she also pursued a career as a stripper. While her decision to enter that line of work might seem shocking to some, it was a choice she made in the context of her life experiences and the challenges she faced. This decision, while controversial, was not made lightly. It stemmed from a mixture of financial necessity, personal agency, and a desire for independence. She was navigating a world where opportunities were limited, and her choices reflected a complex interplay between survival and self-expression. Although she wasn't as young as the other girl, who became a mother while still in high school, both of their stories are intertwined with themes of youthful decisions and the repercussions that follow. Their lives serve as a poignant reminder that the roads we choose can lead us to unexpected destinations, often shaped by the very fabric of our upbringing and the societal norms surrounding us.

The second girl, who became a mother while still navigating the complexities of high school life, faced her own set of challenges. Balancing motherhood with education is no small feat, and her journey was marked by the struggles of trying to fulfill the responsibilities of being a parent while also attempting to complete her studies. The demands of caring for a newborn, coupled with the pressures of maintaining academic performance, created a daunting environment for her. She often found herself torn between attending classes and being present for her child, leading to sleepless nights and overwhelming stress. The societal pressures and expectations placed upon young mothers can be immense, often leading to feelings of isolation or inadequacy. Friends and peers may drift away, leaving them to grapple with their new reality alone, and the stigma attached to young motherhood can further complicate their experiences. Despite these hardships, she showed remarkable resilience and determination, striving to create a better future for herself and her child while facing judgment from those around her.

The Third girl took a similar route as the second, following a trajectory that seemed almost predetermined by the circumstances surrounding her upbringing. She went down a dark path, one that was fraught with challenges and difficult choices. This path was not just a physical journey but also an emotional and psychological one, marked by moments of despair and fleeting hope. At a young age, she found herself facing the overwhelming responsibilities of motherhood, having two kids before she even reached her twenties. The weight of these responsibilities came with a myriad of struggles, including financial instability and the constant pressure to provide for her children in a world that often felt unforgiving. In her quest for survival and a means to support her family, she became a stripper, a decision that was not made lightly. This choice, while controversial and often stigmatized, was rooted in a desire to make ends meet and to create a better life for her children. The world of stripping brought with it a complex mix of empowerment and vulnerability. On one hand, it offered her a way to earn money quickly and independently; on the other hand, it exposed her to a myriad of dangers and societal judgments. The late nights, the smoky clubs, and the incessant scrutiny from both patrons and peers added layers of difficulty to her already challenging life. Each performance was not just a means to an end but also an act of resilience in the face of adversity, showcasing her determination to rise above her circumstances and provide for her family despite the odds stacked against her.

As I reflect on their lives, I can't help but wonder who truly lost in the end. Society often paints a grim picture of young mothers, labeling them as reckless or misguided. However, it's essential to recognize that each of these girls made choices that were influenced by their environments and personal circumstances. Their stories remind us that life is not a straightforward path, and the outcomes are not always as clear-cut as we might assume. Each decision they made was a reflection of their realities, and while their paths diverged, they both navigated a world filled with obstacles and triumphs. In examining their journeys, we uncover a deeper understanding of the complexities surrounding young motherhood and the diverse experiences that shape individuals in profound ways. Rather than viewing their choices through a lens of judgment, we should approach their stories with empathy, acknowledging the unique challenges they faced and the resilience they demonstrated in the face of adversity.

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Role of Bullies

It’s also worth considering the role of bullies in these narratives, as their presence significantly alters the dynamics of social interactions among youth. Bullies often think they hold an undeniable power over their peers, believing that their taunts, threats, and aggressive actions will elevate them in social standing and grant them a sense of superiority. This misguided perception of power leads them to engage in behavior that not only harms their targets but also distorts their own self-image. They may feel a temporary rush of confidence or validation from their peers who cheer them on, yet this façade of strength is often built on a shaky foundation of insecurity and fear. However, as time goes on, it becomes increasingly evident that bullies rarely come out on top in the long run. The consequences of their actions can haunt them, manifesting in various forms such as social isolation, anxiety, and a profound sense of regret as they grapple with the reality of their choices. This cycle of regret and bitterness can perpetuate a toxic mindset, leading them to continue their harmful behaviors in an attempt to reclaim their lost status or mask their own vulnerabilities.

In contrast, those they targeted may find unexpected strength in adversity, learning resilience and compassion through their experiences. The trials they endure can serve as powerful catalysts for personal growth, enabling them to develop a deeper understanding of themselves and others. Many individuals who have faced bullying emerge with a heightened sense of empathy, often becoming advocates for those who are similarly marginalized. They learn to navigate the complexities of human relationships, gaining insights that allow them to foster supportive communities and promote kindness. This transformation can be a testament to the human spirit's capacity to overcome hardship and emerge stronger, highlighting the profound impact of resilience in the face of adversity.

In the end, the lives of these two girls serve as poignant reminders of the complexities of youth, the weight of choices, and the often-unseen battles that individuals face on their journey to self-discovery. Their journeys highlight the importance of empathy and understanding, encouraging us to look beyond the surface and recognize the deeper stories that shape who we are. Each interaction, each moment of kindness or cruelty, contributes to the intricate tapestry of our experiences, reminding us that we all carry our own burdens and that compassion can bridge the gaps between us. It is crucial to foster environments where dialogue and understanding thrive, allowing individuals to share their stories and learn from one another, ultimately leading to a more inclusive and supportive society.

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Lists

Books 📚

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Songs 🎶

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Movies/Shows/Documentaries 🎥

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Bible verses about bullies 🙏

1 John 2:9 - Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness.
1 John 2:10
1 John 3:15 - Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life residing in him.
1 John 3:16
Ephesians 4: 22-24
Ephesians 4: 29 - Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.