One of my boys is actively being ignored by kids in our neighborhood. They run and hide when they see him. They think it's funny. He, by the grace of God, is unaware. I, on the other hand, am not. My heart is shattering into a million pieces as I watch it happen in front of my eyes. They don't even hide their meanness anymore in front of adults.
So last night, Mark and I sat down over a wonderful glass of red wine...I should have poured a goblet...to talk about this awfulness called "Bullying." I needed perspective. I felt like I was being swallowed up by anger and sadness; and I know that isn't where my God is leading me, so I wanted help getting out of this pit.
As the conversation progressed, my own wounds, from decades ago, were opening again as I recounting my own stories of being bullied, the shame and embarrassment I still feel because of what people did or said.
- Asking a boy to "go with" me and having him tell me he would give me the answer at recess. So while playing on the jungle gym he brought a hoard of people over with him, dodge ball in hand, and yelled, "I would never go out with you bitch!" And then he threw the ball at my head, hit my head, and it bounced off the jungle gym (my head, not the ball).
- Drinking water out of the water fountain and having a boy come up behind me and say directly into my ear, "hey Chunk." When I turned around quickly, he said, "See, look! She responds to her name!"
- Having another kid sit at lunch and make a pig face when I ate.
- Having 2 friends run away from me as a chased them to play with me. These girls were my friends, every day, but that day, I was a target.
I am sharing snapshots of memories from times when I was hurt by others. These are isolated incidents that happened decades ago, and yet, I have allowed these moments to define pieces of me for years. And so I started to question why.
Why?! Why on earth do I still feel pain from these experiences. Or as I explained to Mark last night...
I feel no sadness or pain when I think of your affair years ago, and I was betrayed by the man I love the most in this world. It isn't a wound that scabs over and opens from time to time. There are reminders, but no sadness. No pain. So why do I feel like wounds from childhood hurts still aren't healed? Why are those scabs that keep getting scratched off whenever I see more injustice done to my child, or someone else's sweet baby, still plaguing me!?
Mark thought about it for a moment and just said, "Lindsey, I bet I could ask my 92 year old patients if they were ever bullied; and they would remember the names of people and what they said to them. I'm not sure those wounds ever heal."
But I don't think I believe that. God heals, God redeems, God reconciles. He has done it in my own life in mighty, mighty ways. So I don't believe he would leave people hanging to heal their own childhood hurts, or to just "deal with it", all the days of their lives.
So how do we move past our childhood hurts and start guiding our children to the place where they can love their enemies, and handle mean kids with dignity and empowerment?
I would love your thoughts. I'm not searching for cliché's. And I know this is somehow character building. But I do want some truth to sink my teeth into while I try not to wallow in my own sadness and disappointment and hurt.
Life is Messy and Beautiful and my Youngest is Screaming,
The Joyful and Tired Mom
