So Friday I went to this NQT (Newly Qualified Teacher) training day. For some reason they decided to allow me to attend these meetings, despite the fact that I wasn't trained in England, and therefore technically shouldn't really attend. Despite that, I am quite thankful for being allowed to attend, because the meetings are beneficial to me; they are mostly skills building meetings, in which we discuss various things that may affect a first year teacher. You don't have to have trained in England to experience the same problems, across the board. In my experience, children are children, no matter where they come from. Sure, you might run into a few cultural differences (for example, I will always be of the belief that British children are more pampered, and therefore more stuck up), but at the end of the day the behaviour is mostly the same.
Anyways, I digress.
I was at this meeting, and they were putting on a seminar about bullying. For most of the lecture, I tuned out, because it was all stuff I'd heard before; that bullying is hard to pin down because the definition of what constitutes bullying changes, and that sometimes it isn't detectable, blah blah blah.
While the rest of the group was yammering on, I became lost in my own memories. Few people who know me as an adult would surmise that I've had a rather turbulent past, in terms of bullying. I don't come across as the type of person who'd be subjected to bullying, for a number of reasons. I've been told by many people that I have an air of confidence and security about me. I've never really come to grips with how exactly I project this image, which only leads me to believe that my confidence is either a) purely for show or b) something that is so innately a part of me that I don't even know I project it. Whatever it is, I'm glad that I appear that way to people, because it makes them less likely to hassle me.
It wasn't always this way. In high school I suffered from extremely low self esteem. I'd argue it lingers with me, at least a little, to this day. I've never been truly comfortable in my own skin. I am intensely critical of myself, to the point where if asked to rate myself on a scale of one to ten, I would still say "5". In high school I may have said lower.
I have intense memories of looking at myself in the mirror, and degrading every part of my face. I felt my forehead was too big (I used to moan continually about having a "five finger forehead"), my eyes to close together (and the glasses, I felt, were the only thing that hid that), my nose too fat at the end (this wasn't aided by the fact that a friend of mine once remarked that, when viewed from the bottom, my nose looked like the nipple of a babies bottle), my hair too scraggly, my teeth not white enough, and my skin a horrid mess of oil, grease and blackheads.
With a face like that, I would say, how could I ever hope to be liked?
You see, at the time I felt that in order to be popular one had to be beautiful. It seemed that all the popular people were the ones that were 'stereotypically' attractive on some level. Apparently, the idea that I wasn't desirable to any boy meant that I was worthless on all levels.
I did, however, concede that despite my disgustingly unfortunate face, I had managed to pull out a pretty decent body. I never struggled with my weight in high school, and always admired the fact that I had nice curvaceous hips. I was let down in the boob department, but that wasn't really a huge concern to me. It was all about the face.
Walking around with a face like mine, I felt it was impossible to become popular. I remember trying in vain to make myself appealing.
To fix my scraggly hair I had it all lobbed off. I worked the cute boyish cut, as an attempt to a) be slightly different, and b) because I simply had no clue what to do with long hair. The idea of blow drying it was foreign and scary to me, so the easiest solution was to chop it off. That worked for awhile, in that I did get some admiration, but mostly it was a failure. Unsure of what to do next, I went through the painstaking process of growing it out. The phases of growing short hair long are awkward, and I think that perhaps cutting it wasn't the best idea. I made it through in the end though, only to be faced with the same problem I'd started out with; what could I do with this hair?
The answer, unfortunately, was a perm. I permed my hair, for lack of knowing what to do with it straight. The result, as we all know, was terrible. Perms are never a good idea.
So what did I do? I lobbed it all off again.
It was a constant battle, with me.
Eventually, I got it right in OAC, when I managed to customize a mixture of short and long; I worked the 'Paige Davis' (if you watched Trading Spaces at all, in those early days, you'll know what I mean). It worked alright for me, I suppose. It wasn't until I went to university that I discovered the wonders of a straightening iron; it was then that my hair became manageable.
The eyes, I felt, were never going to get better. I felt insecure and weird without my glasses, but was painfully aware of the social stigma attached to them. Only dorky people wore glasses. I tried a number of different frames, but I never felt I could pull off the look without looking like a complete loser. Contacts, at the time, were too disgusting and scary for me to even consider. The idea of sticking my finger in my eye was enough to make my head spin, so I politely declined that idea. Besides, I really did believe that because my eyes were too close together, glasses provided me with some 'cover'. So I wrote off the idea of not wearing the glasses, and resigned myself to the fact that they would forever be a burden to me.
I remember experimenting with makeup as well, and whenever I look back at pictures of myself I can't help but laugh at how horribly I applied it. I'm not saying I'm a pro at it now, but I certainly know when to avoid applying bright blue colours to my lids. Subtly wasn't my thing, I guess.
Despite all my best efforts, I never made it into the 'cool' crowd. I was always just outside it, too shy to try to enter, and too down on myself to think I could.
Grade 7 and 8 are pretty fuzzy to me these days, and I don't remember a whole lot about those years. I know I wasn't the happiest girl, but I wasn't overly sad either. I had the usual fall-outs with girls, but most of that I attributed to being chronically labelled 'the new girl'. I never really fit into any social group in town, and wandered from one group of friends to the next. We were the indistinguishable girls. The ones that kind of fly under the radar of teachers, who do well academically, but aren't athletically able. In short, we didn't really register at all. We were just names on the register, bodies that filled seats, and minds that took in what was taught with little objection. I did the projects assigned, never handed anything in late, and generally made very little noise, aside from the occasional giggle-fest.
Boys terrified me, so I stayed away from them as best I could.
It wasn't until grade 9 that things started to get really bad for me. It was at this point where my insecurities about my appearance, and my subsequent place in the social hierarchy, really started to come to the fore.
As previously mentioned, I'd never really fit in with any group for long, and found myself bumping from one group of girls to another. In grades 7 and 8 I was good friends with Kyla and Samantha; the three of us hung out a lot, had sleepovers, and were the best of friends. I had fun with them, and for the most part, have only fond memories. For some reason (I can't really recall what that is, but I think it had something to do with a falling out with Amanda Ungar), the three of us drifted apart. There was some unpleasantness, where they stopped talking to me, or I got pushed out. To this day, I'm left with a feeling of being 'short shifted' in that regard; I still can't talk to those girls in a normal conversation without feeling some weirdness and tension. I couldn't tell you why, though...
After Sam and Kyla, I started to hang out with Ashley. Ashley and I were really close, and remained so until I screwed that up by becoming obsessively involved with my first (and only for a very long time) boyfriend, Adam. I made the classic girl mistake of becoming so involved in my boyfriend that I neglected my true friendships, and I lost them. I have a lot of regrets about my relationship with Adam, and losing Ashley is probably the biggest one. It's the only thing I never got back.
Ashley was my best mate from when I was in grade 9 until grade 11. We did everything together. We had great fun. However, I must admit that I harboured feelings of jealousy towards Ashley, because she was liked by everyone. She could talk to anyone in the school, and they'd treat her like an equal. If I had tried to do that, I would have been sneered at, or flat out ignored. I think a lot of the reasons why I wasn't treated worse than I was was because of Ashley's presence. I like to think so, anyways. I think her support and friendship with me kind of put everyone off from really ostracizing me. I used to envy the way Ashley could talk to anyone,but never more so than when she talked to boys. For some reason, Ashley was not afraid of boys like I was. I had the hugest crush on a boy named Danny, and it never failed to irk me when she'd engage him in conversation. I knew she'd never 'make a move' on him, because she knew how I felt, but it still bothered me that it was so easy for her and so hard for me. He couldn't even look at me, without my face becoming insanely hot, a sure sign that I was blushing profusely. Any attempt, on my behalf, to talk to him came out in stutters and mumbles. It was embarrassing.
There was, however, a group of girls from the primary school I'd attended for a year, who were always on the outside of everything I was doing, looking in and judging. I'm not entirely sure why, but for some reason they were opposed to my infiltrating their group, or any other group that was remotely cool, for some reason. To this day I can't tell you what their motives were, but I do know that they didn't care for me, and they made certain that I knew.
Snide comments were made behind my back, though always within enough earshot that I'd know it was me they directed their scorn at. Looks were shot my direction. Laughs issued any time I went by. I was generally made to feel like a worthless piece of shit.
The first day of grade 9, I remember going to school in my favourite new shirt. The week before school started, my Mum always took us 'back to school shopping'. I remember picking a few outfits, and then eagerly storing them in my closet, untouched, until the first day. I thought my outfit out over and over, rationalizing it and changing it until I thought I had it just right.
Maybe today would be the day that I'd fit in.
In hindsight, I should have realized that wearing a shirt with Sailor Moon on it wasn't a good choice. However, I had stumbled upon the shirt in 'Backstage Pass', which at the time had a kind of edgy-hip thing going on. Cool kids shopped there, I told myself. Finding the Sailor Moon shirt had been a moment of extreme joy for me. I'd loved that show since grade 6, and the artist me in had really latched onto the Anime style of drawing. I drew nothing but Anime all through high school. I wasn't an Anime/Manga geek, by any means though. I didn't buy the stuff, I merely appreciated the style, and copied it. I suppose people wouldn't have known that though, if they'd seen me doodling in lesson. Or wearing the shirt.
I proudly wore my Sailor Moon shirt that day though. I even thought it clever to put my hair in messy-bun pigtails. Very cute, I thought. Maybe even a tiny bit attractive.
I was horrified, upon entering my home room, to see that there was no one present that I could call a 'friend' in any capacity. The room was full of girls who detested me and boys who enjoyed nothing more than teasing the crap out of me; and not in that flirtatious way, either. In the malicious 'we don't like you, and we hope you know it' way. I distinctly remember two of them, a guy and a girl, exchange a knowing look and a smirking grin when they saw me walk in.
I put my head down, instantly regretting the shirt and the hair, and tried to find a seat that was far away from them.
Throughout the day, the two badgered me constantly.
"Nice shirt, Sailor Moon," they'd taunt. "God, how old are you? You're such a baby!"
"Did your mommy do your hair for you? Who wears pigtails?!"
"Saaaaailoooorrr.....Moooooon"
I tried my best to ignore them at first. I knew that they were looking to get a reaction from me, but I wasn't going to give it to them. I thought they'd get bored, and stop.
They didn't get bored. If anything, they got more intense. When the name calling wasn't enough they started to throw bits of eraser at me. And then paper. I'd flinch, but I tried not to acknowledge it.
Then fingers started to jab me.
At that point, I couldn't ignore them. They had gotten into my physical space, and it was highly offensive.
I remember vividly sitting in French, in a portable, when the boys finger poked me hard in the back.
"Hey, Sailor Moon," he said.
I turned around, trying my best to glare at him, but failing miserably when met with his cocky grin.
"Leave me alone," I spat at him.
"Leave me alone," he mimicked. "You're such a baby! What a loser!"
"Shut up!" I said.
Bingo. They'd started to get a rise out of me, and now I was doomed. The taunting increased, names hurling forward at me with such voracity, it was hard to keep up. Fingers jabbed, names flew, and my emotions rose higher and higher.
I remember looking to the teacher, time and again, for support. However, because I didn't verbally say "EXCUSE ME, but these people are bothering me..." nothing was done. It seemed to me that he turned a blind eye to what was going on. There was no way in hell he couldn't have noticed. I'm a teacher now, and I notice when kids are picking on someone. It is blatantly obvious. The tone of voice a kid uses to tease a friend is completely different to the tone used to tease an enemy. And the reactions are evidently different too. My voice became more and more high pitched, more and more strenuous, the longer their assault on me took place.
No one could withstand that for long, and I am certainly no champion. I started to cry at one point, in the middle of trying to complete a task in French.
You'd think my tears would have caused the teacher to rush to my aid.
He never once approached me.
My crying was like music to my tormentors ears. They didn't relent, and kept hounding. When the bell rang, it was all I could do not to leave my bag behind and flee. But I packed my things, and then left. I speed walked into the school, to my locker. I could hear the tinkling sound of laughter behind me. I remember feeling the hot sun beating on my back, coupling with the sweat that had started to pour out of me during my barrage. My messy-bun pigtails were unravelling almost as fast as my composure.
At my locker, Ashley was waiting. When she saw me, she asked what was wrong, and I burst into tears. I explained that all day I'd been badgered by these two kids. She told me I should tell someone. I said, in my strongest voice, that I would not return to that group. I was going to tell my parents.
I did tell my parents. I'm not sure what they told the school, or even what was done. I wasn't forced to sit in front of anyone though, and explain my side. At least, I don't remember doing that. All I remember is requesting to be put in Ashley's group, and having that request granted. Fast.
I should hope the school did SOMETHING to those students, but I don't know. If they were talked to, I don't know. If they got detention, I don't know. All I know is that I avoided them at all costs from that moment on. When I saw them in the hall I would either slip into the bathroom to escape them, or turn around and walk the other way. I'm sure they noticed, but I couldn't have cared less. I didn't want to have to face them, ever again.
Things didn't get worse from that point, but they remained on a plateau of indifferent normalcy. The girl and the boy regarded me with contempt all through high school. I was never treated fairly by them or anyone in their group. To this day I'm still regarded with that same snide and sneering look. I still can't fit into that social circle. I could go into detail, about events that took place last summer, when the girls were confronted for their standoffish attitude towards me, but I won't. Suffice it to say, that years later, things remain exactly the same.
The only difference is me.
I'm not that girl. I am not passively going to take their abuse. I am also no longer as insecure as I once was. They can't cow me with their 'holier than thou' attitude anymore, because I see them for what they are.
I wish I had seen it then, but I guess that is all part of growing up.
Sitting in the NQT meeting, these thoughts were all swirling through my head. My issues with bullying will never leave me. I can never escape them, but I can sure as hell make sure that other kids can. I don't let anything pass me by. I watch with a keen eye the way kids behave in my classroom, because I will never, ever, let a student feel the way I felt that day. Or any other day in my high school experience.
At least I can rest easy knowing that I'm a better person because of my experiences. The bullies of my day may remain to be bullies now, but I think it's their last grab at power. If it makes them feel like bigger people to lord themselves over me (for no reason other than high school popularity) then I'll let them have it.
At the end of the day I can't be bothered.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
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