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star-anise:

lachesismeg:

strawberryspoop:

Viciously destroy the idea that bullying is a normal part of growing up.

This is so hard for me as a parent to deal with, from both sides.

Like it brings up all of my issues, and I so want my kid to not have to deal with bullying.  And I have no idea how to do that.

I’ll repeat something I’ve said before:

I was doing my Master’s thesis on bullying until the topic triggered me back to my own childhood so badly I dropped out of that degree program.  Let me share something I know.

We haven’t quite found anti-bullying programs that stop bullying once it’s started, but we canreduce the harm bullying does.  Just a few small changes to classroom culture, like limiting children’s opportunities to exclude each other, or spending time talking about respectful communication, has visible changes.  Yeah, there’s still a hierarchy of popularity, but kids at the bottom of the ladder go from having no friends on average to having one or two.  And that’s enough to make or break a childhood.  (Sources: one two three four five)

But here’s the other thing.

There is one major factor that mediates the link between childhood bullying and adult mental illnesses (predominantly depression, anxiety, and eating disorders).  It’s self-blame.

What really damages children isn’t precisely being bullied; it’s believing that they deserve to be bullied. If children don’t blame themselves for being victims, they are much more resilient and experience fewer long-term negative consequences. (Sources: one two three four five)

Society blames children for their victimization by bullies all the time.  It says, “There is something about you that causes people to bully you.“  Common responses to bullied kids are things like: “Don’t give them a reaction.” (They’re bullying you because you get upset.)  “They’re just jealous.” (They’re bullying you because you do well.)  “Let’s teach you some social skills.”  (They’re bullying you because you act weird.)

If we can just change that one thing, we could prevent a lot of damage.  What bullied kids desperately need at the very least is a caring community that says: You are not alone.  It’s not your fault.  What they’re doing is not okay.

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I’m writing my essay on cyber-bullying right now

and there was this article that said “anon hate hurts us because when we read it, we don’t hear the attacker’s voice, we hear our own”

and that’s a really good observation.

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I’m trying to push myself a bit as a writer, jazzforthecaptain suggested I look for something in my past to write about. So, this is me, maybe age 9.

I clutch my book to my chest and follow everyone out to the playground. Lunch is over and now is the short time for children to play. But not for me. I see the others laughing and talking but I walk with my head down, trying to be invisible, bracing myself for the first attack.

“Ugly.”

I look up but the voice is already gone, lost in the crowd. I step outside and breathe the spring air, fresh after the cold winter. Some kids are playing dodgeball or four square or shrieking, laughing on the swings.

I break away from the mob, seeking freedom, solitude. “Hey, stupid,” one of the boys tries for my attention, wolffish smile on his face as his friends watch. As if smashing the low hanging fruit is a victory.

I try to ignore it but the words echo in my mind, keeping fresh the old wounds I’ve dealt with for years. Like a tired soldier I silently walk to a tree and sit, opening the book. The dandelion-dotted grass smells fresh-cut and new, rough bark at my back. Sinking into the story I vaguely hear the sounds of play but I am not part of it.

I’m a child by age but my book is my shield, my loneliness my armor. The concourses and playground are my battlefield. Every exchange a landmine where I am the only casualty.

Adults see nothing; the wounds are invisible. “Everyone gets teased,” they say. “Boys are boys,” while I stand with my tattered heart silently screaming for it to stop. “Why don’t you play with the other kids?” As if I had any real choice. The slightest whiff of vulnerability and I’m torn apart by wolves.

The bell rings and I drag myself back to the reality around me. I am not the brave knight. Nor am I beautiful and valued enough to be the damsel in distress. I step out of the sunlight, blinking in suddenly dim halls, wiping grass from my clothes. A handful of classmates stops talking as I approach, only to laugh as I walk away.

Teasing words follow me down the hall like seeking missiles. Tears sting my eyes as they find their target. I keep my head down and the book shielded against my chest, not strong enough to withstand, but having no other choice. I reach the classroom and slink into my chair, trying my best to turn invisible, to no avail. This is my battlefield, a wounded soldier beyond the reach of safety.

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mild bit of personal in regards to bullying:

I hadn’t realized until I watched that episode how much of a trigger bullying is for me. I mean, I was a badly picked on little kid and I know I still have a bucket of crap from the way I was treated, but seeing the way Sam was getting picked on just brought all of those emotions right back to the surface. And I wrote a damned fic about Dean getting bullied.

Still, interesting that even 25 years after the fact, seeing a little kid get picked on just brings all that gut-wrenching fear back to the surface. And mine was never physical, but getting told by your peers every single day that you’re stupid and ugly and worthless wears on a person…

i’ll shut up and stop being emo now.