Wampum Wisdom

Yesterday, I read a great post by Kathryn Magura about what it means to be thick-skinned and how individuals respond to bullying. Before I say anything, I want to thank Kathryn for posting her experience. Also, thanks to Eric Stoller for engaging with her about the topic which ultimately led to the post. Being bullied, no matter how long ago, can have a stigma about it even as we are welcoming the conversation nationally. So, to the both of them, my sincerest thanks.

As I was reading, there were points at which I agreed with Kathryn. Then I would read Eric’s next statement, and find myself whole-heartedly agreeing with him too. Hm. So I think I’ll be brave like Kathryn & Eric, and share my story.

For me, bullying began when I moved to a distant & affluent suburb from a working class neighborhood just a mile outside the Chicago city limits. I was in the awkward pre-teen years. I was a very plucky, not-too-refined 11-year-old. I didn’t value, or even know about, many of the brand names they prided themselves on. I would go to school in sweats, because who cares how you looked? You’re there to learn – and I loved learning. You don’t read Little Women by age 8 because you hate learning. So you can imagine my enthusiasm for the first day at a new school.

Well, the other kids cared how I looked. The other kids cared about my bluntness. They noticed my vulnerability. Especially the girls. Most days, I hated the idea of waking up for school and would come home to hide. I was lucky enough to find two friends who were also on the fringe, and we weathered the bullying storm together for four years. A series of events I couldn’t have possibly imagined took them away from me. After that, I closed myself off as completely as I could manage for a couple years and visited no small number of dark places.

Hence my agreement with Kathryn about developing a thick skin, at least around others. Especially strangers. When necessary, I would go beyond just having a thick skin & push back. Hard. Because of that thick skin, I couldn’t feel the hurt I could have been causing others either.  For years and years, people would tell me, “you know, when I first met you, I thought you were a bitch. But then I got to know you and you’re not that bad.”

By the end of high school, I’d found a group of great friends that I was comfortable with, but I was still anxious to get away. I didn’t want to see any of those girls again. I insisted on going to college far away from home, and I did. At great financial sacrifice and stress to my family, I went thousands of miles away. And an amazing thing happened when I got there.

I made good friends, who appreciated me for who I was and didn’t have to know about what my life had been like the previous 7 years. I had the chance I’d wanted to remake myself. Part of that remaking? Working on peeling away the callouses I’d developed to protect myself from those girls. I hated it every time someone told me they thought I was a bitch when they first met me, because I’d let those girls do it to me. How many amazing relationships had I missed out on because I was intimidating to people? How many times had I inadvertently made people feel alienated through my coping mechanism? In part, my thick skin made me exfoliate – it made me angry that they’d won, so I’d make myself soft again. I’d be vulnerable again. I’d find the real me and let her be out there again.

In so many ways, the things that define me today are the things I decided would define me. My new friends supported me. My boyfriend at the time (now my incomparable husband and future super-dad, Mr. Nathan Magnuski) forced me to talk about the things that made me most uncomfortable for the first time in my life, and helped me settle with those experiences. I credit him with my emotional literacy because he made me learn how to recognize & explain what I was feeling without ever judging me.

Almost 8 years later, I’m at peace with who I am. Enough at peace that, if someone thinks I’m weird…I might spend a moment considering why before moving on. I don’t need the thick skin to protect me because I’m confident in who I am. Clearly, I’m very open. If you ask me a direct question about pretty much anything, I’ll answer you honestly as long as my confidence isn’t sworn.

I laugh in public. I cry in public. My emotions no longer unsettle me or make me feel afraid. That emotional literacy, so patiently encouraged by Nate, has not only given me personal peace. It has given me the ability and willingness to listen to people talk out an issue for hours until they get to the root of it. It’s helped me to encourage that literacy in others, which is personally rewarding.

Thusly I find myself agreeing with Eric too, that my empathy & charity…the very openness that was my Achilles heel…is the armor with which I take pride in myself and shield others.

Because of the purposeful change I made, I can wonder and even worry about the women that those girls have become. I look back on the fear, anxiety, and upset that led them to act that way towards me. A couple of the key offenders’ parents were going through messy divorces. We were all going through puberty and starting our identity development growth spurt. Who knows what they were protecting themselves from at my expense?

I can wonder, too, if the school officials believed they were doing the best they could for me by leaving me in classes with them so I could develop a thick skin. As far as they were concerned, did the change in my behavior mean they were right? I wonder if they’d react differently now, with all the focus on bullying. Considering the degree to which we will finally talk about the long term effects, and the permanent loss of suicide, I like to hope they would.

I might consider seeking these people out, but I don’t remember many of their full names. I only remember how they made me feel, and I’m not sure knowing would be healing anyway.

As truly horrific as that whole experience was, I don’t know that I would have found this level of self-understanding otherwise. Managing to make it through severe bullying makes you learn a lot about yourself, no matter how you cope. Certainly my experiences with bullying have made me a stronger woman, like Kathryn. My determination to remember the self-that-had-been, and the painful journey associated with it, has made me the empathetic, open, and loving person and professional that I am now. That journey has made responding rationally but emotionally not just a desire but a mandate. And in that, I relate to what Eric shared.

The self-knowledge and self-acceptance I gained from those experiences has been hard-earned. Now, whenever I feel myself getting tough around the edges, I take time. I exfoliate that thick skin regularly. Sometimes, it makes it easier for me to be hurt, and hurt deeply. But I’m at peace with that too. What I’ve taken away from this journey is that I can’t change the experiences, but at least I’ve changed what they mean to me. In that, I feel powerful.

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