Sticks and Stones

Bianca Hunter 

Image credit, Mallory Johndrow, via Unsplash

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words nearly destroyed me…

Like a Helen Reddy song, I embody a distinctly raw and powerful feminine energy. I stand up for myself and what I believe in. I know what I want and am not afraid to go after it. I am unapologetically me and I love myself, cellulite, resting bitch face and all.

I am a Killer Queen. I am Beyoncé on steroids.

However, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t always this empowered. There was a time when I was more of a timid kitten than a fearsome tigress. I was a magnet for bullies, and they honed in on me like a swarm of sadistic, laser guided moths with one key objective: to seek and destroy my self-esteem.

Because that’s what bullies do. That’s what bullies are good at.

Bullies are like Agents from The Matrix. They can be found everywhere: in the schoolyard, the office or even in places where you would least expect to find them, where you would expect to be safe from their influence, like in your own home. They do not all function in the same way, either. Not every bully is physically or verbally abusive. Not all bullying is blatantly obvious. Sometimes it’s subtle, insidious and barely perceptible even to the person who is on the receiving end. Bullying can consist of seemingly innocuous words that mask a hidden meaning. Words that burrow deep into the fatty tissue of the brain and lodge themselves there, where they can continue to fester for months, years and sometimes even a lifetime.

Not every bully is physically or verbally abusive. Not all bullying is blatantly obvious. Sometimes it’s subtle, insidious and barely perceptible even to the person who is on the receiving end.

Words like, ‘No one likes you.’ ‘You’re stupid.’ ‘You’re ugly.’ ‘Why don’t you do everyone a favour and kill yourself?’

Though the words of the bullies who tormented me in my youth no longer hold the same power over me now as they once did in the past, I can still remember acutely the way that they made me feel. I can still remember the countless evenings when, after waiting for my parents to tuck me into bed, turn out the light and leave the room, I would squeeze my eyes shut, clasp my hands tight and pray. I wasn’t praying for a pony or to be swept off my feet by Prince William (FYI this was when he was younger, cuter and had a full head of hair). No. What I yearned for, above all else, was to wake up one morning, to look at myself in the mirror and find that I had been magically transformed. I didn’t want to be a princess or a movie star. I just wanted to be someone else. Someone that people would not reject or ridicule or treat with contempt. Someone worthy of love and acceptance.

Because words are powerful and when they become too deeply ingrained within our psyche they can take on a prophetic, self-fulfilling quality. So, in my case, it wasn’t surprising that, after years of being put down and led to believe that I wasn’t significant or worthy of respect, I continued to attract narcissists and bullies – in the form of bosses, boyfriends, teachers and “friends” – who perpetuated the false narrative I had grown to identify with. All I had wanted was their approval and, while I wasn’t overly happy being walked over like I was some glorified taxidermy rug, it seemed like a small price to pay for the sake of not being isolated and alone.

‘So what changed?’ I hear you ask.

I realised I’d been playing the lackey to other people’s insecurities and self-esteem issues. By focussing on me and honing in on what they perceived to be my weaknesses, they’d merely been deflecting the attention away from themselves.

A couple of years ago, when I started practicing mindfulness to help with my anxiety and depression, I became conscious of just how mentally and emotionally exhausted I was feeling. The exhaustion was the result of hauling twenty years’ worth of emotional baggage (or more like a giant, wheel-less trunk) around with me, and the more I unpacked it, the more apparent it became just how little of it actually belonged to me. And that’s when I had my big ‘aha’ moment: I realised I’d been playing the lackey to other people’s insecurities and self-esteem issues. By focussing on me and honing in on what they perceived to be my weaknesses, they’d merely been deflecting the attention away from themselves. They’d inflicted pain on me in a vain attempt to numb their own. But whether it gave them any real satisfaction, who (beside an accredited psychologist) can say for sure.

All I know is this: once I came to the conclusion that there was and is nothing wrong with me, not only was I a lot happier, but I developed a no-nonsense approach to each of my relationships and interactions. I stopped allowing people to make me feel ashamed about the things that make me distinctly ‘me’ – the good, the bad or the downright weird, because I proudly fly my freak flag at full mast, me hearties! – I started setting boundaries and distancing myself from anyone who tried to influence or diminish me and I set to work on cultivating the seeds of self-confidence and self-respect that had begun to grow as a result of my shifting mental state. Obviously, I realise there are still going to be people who won’t accept me for who I am or will dislike me for reasons that are completely beyond my understanding or control.  But…I accept that. Because what I do have control over is how I see myself. And what I’ve learnt is that there is only one person who I need to accept me and that’s myself. Which I now do. Wholeheartedly. Cellulite, resting bitch face and all.