I am continually asking myself:
Why do I allow bullies to trigger me?
Long ago, I should have learned that bullies have no power over me. And most importantly, that bullies have no power at all.
But trigger me, they do.
I was bullied for way too many of my younger years.
Bullied because I didn’t have a father.
Bullied because my mother was a child.
Bullied because I came from a broken home.
Bullied because my mother was excommunicated.
Bullied because my grandmother was excommunicated.
Bullied because I wore boy’s shoes.
Bullied because I was too tall, too skinny, awkward, scrawny, and homely.
Bullied because there was nothing special about me.
There I said it. So what?
There are millions of bullied kids out there with far worse problems.
And okay; so what if I wore boy’s shoes?
I had big feet.
And anyway, that was what was left in a bag on our Huron Street doorstep, fresh from Salvation Army.
Be thankful, was what my grandmother said.
So yeah, when I’m bullied, I lash out.
And I often go from zero to 100—just like that.
I have no tolerance for bully behavior.
And between us? I often feel regret for my aggressive response.
But then, I don’t.
I feel vindicated.
I feel like I’m making up for all those years that I was torturously bullied.
I decided a long time ago that I could be the heroine in my story.
Sometimes the story works out, and sometimes it doesn’t.