Help Them Stand Up To The Bully

By Quinn Simpson

Some of my toughest years growing up were between the ages 7-10. I was bullied and felt like an outsider. Upon reflection, I realise I needed a coach. In the new year, I am facilitating a Live Online Class to support parents and educators who want to coach 7–10-year-olds. This was written for them.

***

The playground was peacefully quiet until 150 children were let out to destroy the sandpit, climb the monkey bars and run across the wobbly wooden bridge. I can’t remember how I got to the sandpit so quickly that day, but somehow Bonnie and I were there first. So, we did what any eight-year-old would do – we began to scoop the sand with our hands with a shared vision of digging to China.

A few days later, I remember standing near the two massive holes we had dug. We were so proud. That was, until two older girls walked by to see what we were up to. They looked at our sandpit creations, laughed and asked, “What are you making? Dinosaur toilets?” They walked away but the embarrassment I felt in that moment stayed with me.

Minutes later, we filled in the holes and never played in the sandpit together again.

***

Sadly, that story is one of many. I was frequently bullied as a child and no adult helped me. At least, that’s what it felt like. Picture this: I’m seven years old and it’s recess. I’m alone, standing on the playground, watching all my classmates happily run around while I think about my what I called my ‘loser-hood’.

I wasn’t as much of a loser as the actual losers, I used to think. And I was nowhere near as cool as the cool kids. But if I wasn’t cool and I wasn’t a loser, what was I? Was I an even bigger loser? Cooler than the cool kids? I settled with just being weird and different. That was enough for me.

As you can imagine, I dreaded recess. Unscheduled time meant I had to figure out not only what I would do with my time, but also, who I would spend it with. No one wanted to play with me. Really. No one.

Have you ever dreaded recess? Wished you were exploring another planet or perhaps eating a mango on a dessert island? That was me – wishing I was somewhere else.

Being different was draining. I constantly had to defend myself and could only withstand this for so long before I developed a new strategy – don’t be different.

***

Shortly after digging dinosaur holes, I decided to try out my new strategy with the cliché perfect girl in my class. I was standing on the steps outside music and a few of us were discussing Madonna – more specifically, whether we liked her or not.

I decided that Devon would like me if I liked what she liked. So, when she said, “I love Madonna”, I responded, “Me too!” But then, she made this face as if to test me, and blurted, “Actually, I don’t really like Madonna”.

That was the moment.

I could have said, “Really? But you just said you liked her. Well, I still like her, whether you do or not.” But I didn’t. I changed my mind as quickly as she did, with the hope that she would like me, would be my friend and I would invite me to her birthday that year.

She didn’t. We weren’t. I wasn’t.

***

I continued the strategy of wearing a mask and being whatever others needed me to be for quite some time. I used it at school, at home and at summer camp, too.

Kids at camp were the nastiest. They judged me and made me feel wrong, and in some cases, they bullied me into thinking I was less than them. Hence my need for the ‘don’t be different’ strategy or in other words…

actlikeyouarelikeeveryoneelseandmaybenoonewillnoticeyouarenothinglikethem

I remember feeling like no matter what I did, I was an inconvenience. They made fun of me for how fast I ate my lunch. They left me out when choosing activities for the day. They even questioned the sounds I made when I was sleeping.

I was too fast or too slow. I was too quiet or too loud. I was too weird or too normal.

And yes, I am fully aware how annoying it is to hysterically cry the minute you’re tagged “It” in a game of tag. But, that’s not the point. Was I bullied?

What does bullying even mean? Can children really be oppressors? How can a kid who can barely tie her own shoes be a tyrant? If the definition of a bully is someone “who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker,” then yes. I think I was bullied. But did the bullies know what they were doing?

I’m certain I felt wrong, but I’m uncertain I can really blame them for that. Surely, I played a part, too. I let myself feel embarrassed and sad. I carried it with me. If only I knew those who are bullied often become bullies. It’s quite likely that those kids at camp were bullied at school, or made to feel wrong by their parents.

I wish I’d realised we may have had that in common.

***

Nearing my 40s, I realise now that the biggest bully is often in my own mind. In all of these stories, I had a choice. I could feel embarrassed or I could remember what makes me special. I could be angry or remember that everyone is just doing their best. Maybe the older girls on the playground had been made fun of by their brothers. Maybe Devon had pooped her pants that morning and was feeling ashamed.

What I needed at that age was help to see myself more clearly. I needed a mirror. I needed help seeing my brilliance and understanding what made me, me.

Join me on January 23, 2024 for a Live Online Class on How to Coach Middle Childhood. This is for parents or educators who work with children ages 7-10.