The Kids Are Alright ... Aren't They?

This week I've been writing a chapter for the book about my childhood. This part of my life feels a bit lost to me. I do remember things, of course, but it's muffled. During my first therapy session last week, I was posed a question. Has any other counsellor helped you look back into your childhood? I had some counselling a few years ago, I went because I felt very low and needed to talk it through. My childhood never really came up much. Maybe that says more about my choice of counsellor rather than it does about me. 

Writing about being a kid has unearthed some stuff I didn’t expect. I came upon memories of anxiety. 

About ten years old, riding around my town where my parents still live, on my bike, looking for my best mate, as his mum said he was already out with someone. He was my best mate!  I was triggered! Not that “triggered” was the word back then. Why hadn't he called for me?

When I did come across him he would often be with a bigger group on a street corner or by the row of shops near where we lived, or maybe even at the local park. I’d often hang back, so they wouldn't see me, gauging the situation. The anxiety of being out of the loop, betrayal by my friend, and annoyance that I was overthinking, it would all be building.

The back of my head being filmed by the imaginary camera that was recording my life. The gang of kids in the distance over my left shoulder. The camera pulled back, the depth of field distorts as the huge dark sinkhole appears in the street between them and me. I can't get across this void. It's too wide now, I'm stuck on one side, they are on the other. Standing alone holding my BMX up against my side, watching them laughing, I've no choice but to turn away and go home. Angry with myself for losing confidence, angry with him, with them for making me feel like that by just being together and enjoying themselves without me.

I vowed to myself that if they came to call I would hide so they thought I was out, or I would tell them I wasn't coming out, that will show them. No Wallis, you are not ‘Showing’ anyone anything here, you’re just making yourself feel worse and wallowing in your own ten-year-old anxiety and sadness. 

That social anxiety is still with me today. And it feels exactly the same as it did then. It hurts, I hate it and myself for letting it win.

Less of an adoption thing, but just as valid, I suffered that same anxiousness when I have been bullied. To me growing up, every kid bigger, or more confident than me would make me anxious, and it felt as if I was being physically bullied by these kids constantly, of course, that's a ridiculous notion, but it's how I felt at the time. Bullying hasn't happened a lot in my life, but it's been there and it's vivid, so it must matter right?

My first memory of being bullied was when I was probably around 4 years old, back then in 1977 we lived on a ‘Close’ in the UK a ‘Close’ is a  street with a dead end, a ‘cul de sac’. Which, I believe means ‘The Arse of the Bag’ nice!

I remember playing with other kids on the street, and I remember a mask. A kid a few doors away from my house had a mask, which he/she would wear to scare me, they would see I was there and go and get that mask, put it on, and chase me away. God I hated it, I don't remember what it looked like but it was frightening to me. Was this kid bullying me? The more I consider it, the more I think, yes.

The next one that jumps straight into my head was primary school, the small school sat at the top of the road on our new street. We moved in 1979, I was 6 years old.  The school had 4 classes with approximately 30 children per class. I was in the first year and my antagonist was in the final fourth year.

He made my first-year hell. Every playtime he would find me and chase me in a corner, and, well, that's just it, for the life of me I can't remember what he did next! I just know I was scared to death by him and I could not wait for him to leave. I hated that first year and playtime wasn't fun for me that first year either.  It was such a huge relief to little Wallis when he did finally move up to the ‘big school’. Funnily enough, I don't recall ever seeing him again, even when, in 1984 I moved up the ranks to ‘Big school’ myself.

I was 14 now, it was Sunday evening, and it was dark out, so it must have been autumn or winter time. My sister and I had just been forced to have a bath, and we were sitting in our dressing gowns watching Sunday night TV. probably ‘Bergerac’ John Nettles speeding around Jersey fighting crime. I'm humming the theme tune in my head.

There was a knock at the door, not a usual occurrence in our house, especially at that time on a Sunday. My dad went to answer it, A kid I knew was outside on our drive, he was asking for me. Dad called me to the door.  He and his older mate who was pacing up and down on the street in front of the house started yelling at me. Saying that I was going to be ‘smacked’ for saying things about the older kid's Dad!

That's how it started, It ended with my 5 feet 4 inches tall mum holding the older kid up against the garage door and shouting directly in his face, my dad giving the other kid a talking too, I watched on from the doorway, not quite sure what the hell was happening. My anxious stomach doing flips while I watched on. Scared.

I’d done and said nothing to antagonise these kids, I’d not said anything about his Dad, and I didn't even know his Dad, The whole thing made no sense to me. All I did know was that I had to go to school the next day … Fuck, and Shit my parents were fucking awesome! Nothing ever came of that night, and nothing was ever said about it at school, but boy was I an anxious ball of a spotty teenager walking up to school that Monday morning! Now, I’m not entirely sure that this was a true bullying story but it's in my mind often, even today, as an adult, so it had its impact on Brian the brain.

In 1990 I started at a company as an apprentice engineer. I was bullied every fucking day for 3 years. Every day, by everyone who worked there. Kicked about the place like an old Coke can. I've lost count of the number of times I've been punched or placed in a headlock while I worked there. The apprenticeship system in these sorts of industries was hard back then, I’m so pleased that things are different now. People are treated with much more respect, as people. And that's good.

In 1995, I  was asked to go and help out at a different site for the same firm that only had around ten members of staff, and that's when it all changed, I was finally treated as a human instead of a dog. I stayed there until I left in 1999. 

But wait … There was an instance, It must have been in 1997,  I’d been instructed to go over to the other site to collect some machine parts in the van. I still hated going over there, but I went and did as I was asked. 

I Pulled up outside the big old workshop and as I stopped the van I saw a guy I knew from there walking up the street. I opened the window, said “Hello” and joked about him sneaking out of work. He did nothing more than thrust his arm through the open window of the van and grab me by the throat,  and squeezed! I’d never had that happen to me before, I thought he was going to choke me to death! Didn’t this sort of thing just happen in the movies? 

I was struggling to breathe. He leaned in, told me to ”Shut the fuck up!” or something like that, then released his grip and carried on walking.

That massive overreaction to a simple joke frightened the crap out of me. I sat there stunned, what the hell just happened, oh shit, now I've got to follow him inside! Now I had another reason to feel massively anxious about that place. What drives someone to do that to a person? What did he expect to gain from that, my respect? He was going the wrong way about it if that was the case. I’m happy to report that the building has long since been knocked down and is now a row of lovely new three-story townhouses.

What do bullies stand to gain from their actions?

Do they have low self-esteem issues and don't want to let their issues be made clear to others, so they lower the Esteem of others to allow them to rise up the ranks? Sounds plausable.

However, there is also a suggestion that it might be the opposite reason entirely. Studies have shown that a bully can have very high self-esteem, and instead use ‘Defensive Ego-tism’. Essentially, they defend their egos, so as not to appear stupid or small in front of others. 

Well, ok, But whichever way you slice it, and in my opinion, it all comes back to low self-esteem eventually, doesn't it?

The person with self-esteem issues picks on the person with self-esteem issues. Just to help with their self-esteem issues.

I think I've always felt like a victim in my own life. But I feel as if I might be the bully and the victim to myself. Now that is going to take some thinking about!

Am I really bullying myself down, for what reason? If I am, then why am I letting it happen?

I should be the hero in this movie of me, not the villain or victim.

If you, or anyone you know is being affected by bullying, there are some great resources here on the National Bullying Helpline website

Photo by mali desha on Unsplash