I’ve had a hard time sitting down to write my blog lately. I blame it on my crazy schedule and trying to finish my thesis, but the truth is someone is trying to suck the joy out of my writing and he is starting to wear me down.
I was lucky as a child. I grew up in Dublin, Texas and I had some of the best classmates a kid could ever ask for. We were a very tight group—all 43 of us. I went to school with about 12 of those classmates from the time we entered kindergarten until we graduated high school.
I say I was lucky because I was never really bullied. I’m sure my experience is different than others from my school, and I don’t want to paint a rosy picture of Dublin. But I admit that I had it pretty darn good.
I think the worst thing that ever happened to me was when someone would make fun of my glasses or my crooked teeth or tell me my family was poor. I got made fun of for not going to church and for the fact that
Daddy had a ponytail. A few girls called me a bitch behind my back and a boy threatened to kick my ass in the line at the snack bar, but that was about it.
So, perhaps my idea of bullying is different than others, but I feel pretty confident that I know a bully when I see on.
I believe a bully is a person who tries to scare you into doing something or tries to scare you into not doing something. A bully is the kind of person who threatens you if he doesn’t get his way.
A good bully knows your weaknesses and preys on them. A seasoned bully waits until you’re most vulnerable and then launches his attack.
I want to be that person who says, “Huff and puff all you want, I’m not afraid of you anymore.” Sometimes I do. But sometimes I get tired of fighting and looking over my shoulder all the time. Sometimes I’m exhausted and sometimes I start to believe that I am doing something wrong.
What’s even worse is when the bully believes what he is saying. He sounds so convincing that you begin to question everything you say and do.
That’s why I haven’t been able to write much. I feel like every word I type is being analyzed and criticized and it bothers me. It shouldn’t.
I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve never lied. I’ve never been malicious. I’ve never harassed anyone. By the way, a writer has to do all of those things in order to be charged with defamation.
But despite the fact that I know I have done nothing wrong, that little voice in my head keeps saying, “Just delete the whole damn blog and start over.”
The part that bothers me the most is that I find myself not writing about important topics in my life because I don’t want to share those thoughts with some people, but a blog is an open forum and I can’t control who reads it. I know I can delete this bully as a subscriber, but he will continue to read anyway.
I’m going to try to keep writing and I’m going to try to keep writing about things that are important to me and to those who care about me. But a part of me feels very defeated today. An even bigger part of me doesn’t want to share my words, thoughts, and photos any more. I’m not sure what I am going to do about all of this, but I’m going to try to do what I tell my children to do—I’m going to ignore the bully and find someone who can take care of the problem for me.