Bullies.
They come with all kinds of compliments, lunch~boxes, ties and high heels. They'll wink at you while they trip you and grab your wallet on the way down. I have been bullied since I was a kid, and for some reason I have a homing device in my nose. I sorta sniff them out. Or the other way around. Either way, I've gotten it from the lunchroom gang, my frenemies, my siblings, (I probably deserved it!) my teachers and even the gopher I tried to catch (another story for another chapter). I've been harassed because I wasn't good at kickball, because I was a kick~butt pianist, because I was ugly, because I was a beauty queen, because I was alive. It happens. Anyway, I would like to think that Cinderella had it right. When you define what kind of person you want to be, "being kind and having courage" does pay off for the 98% of society who actually has a heart. But bullies just don't seem to fit the formula. Bullies have self esteem issues which surpass any form of empathy I can conjure. Which is why they get a special chapter in my book.Truthfully, this will be one of the hardest chapters that I write. Not because it's particularly brilliant or clever, but because to me it's so raw. It's fresh and it stings no matter how long ago it happened. I find I can be fine one minute and burst into tears the next. I'm still learning about this phenomenon. People who manipulate, charm and gain your trust make their way inside the most vulnerable part of yourself: your heart. Should they be allowed inside? The answer is "Yes" if they have earned it. But what if their intent all along was to deceive, to hurt and cause damage. What if their intention was never anything but selfish. The pain they inflict can last for years. I know. Survivors of abuse sometimes don't survive. In that case the answer is of course "No." So, how do you tell? What does "Love at Arm's Length mean"? It's the title of this book for a reason. Arm's Length is an expression. Let me explain.
When something triggers me and these tears just pour from my soul I know they are coming from the little girl inside who never felt safe. I had to run away and hide. Sometimes I was sent away for hours on end in the dark, alone. I was hurt. When something hurts and scares me now, something as random as a bill I cannot pay or a threatening phone call; the tears start to flow again. I'm learning that the tears are my heart~words and I must honor them. I must be the nurturer I never had growing up. I give myself a time out to just feel and cry. It's okay to cry. I'm learning to understand myself. The more often I allow myself this freedom of speech, the faster I'm healing and helping teach others how to heal!
I have been living in an abusive marriage for 15 of the 25 years I have been married. I choose not to dwell on this aspect of my life or to view myself as a victim, and I choose to forgive my mate. I believe people can change. I am divorcing now, and am just entering a new chapter of my life. I am frightened but hopeful for the healing I deserve. My daughters also deserve a better example of what real love and respect between two parents is all about. Maybe someday they'll both get that chance in our family.
I just studied an excellent Blog post HERE for additional help to determine and define ways to spot an abusive situation if you are interested in more information. For clarification here there are many different types of abuse, none of them belonging in any healthy functioning relationship. Please don't allow it to happen to your children, your spouse or yourself!
I would like to focus on the healing that comes after the damage. The "resiliency" as one of my dear friends put it. For example: "If people throw stones at you.... pick them up and build something!"
I've been hiding my abuse. Why I wonder. So I could fit in? So I could pretend I am the same person I always was before it started? Because no one believes me anyway? Maybe it's because I'm numb inside. Or because I felt sorry for him? No. I don't think It's any of those reasons. I think it's all of them. And that makes me guilty too. Before the abuse, before the damage and before the tears I was a different person. A long time ago I was much braver.
Every day I walked to our bus stop with my brothers. My job was to find said bus stop, rain or shine, snow or hail and make sure they got on that bus. I was the oldest and big sisters do these things. Most big sisters don't have to ward off vicious enemies on a daily basis but I did. My Fifth grade year a new kid with a gangster accent moved into our neighborhood and to protect the guilty, I'll call him CARL. Carl was an interesting character. He looked like a Chicago mobster in a leather jacket with spikes. His catch phrase: "I aint scaaaared ah you" (emphasis on the scaaaaaaaared.... try to sound like 'the Fonz' when you read this.) Short as he was, he successfully gave my little brother a bloody nose day after day after day. This did not sit well with me. One, I had to explain to my mother why I didn't get him on the bus before the gang fight broke out on me instead, and 2. It broke my heart. What was I supposed to do about this? This kid was a menace. Not one other person at the bus stop would do a thing to help. Even the bus driver wouldn't look at Carl. His dad was just as scary. I had to become the anti~bully. I had to take a stand and out smart this mobster.
I took all of my baby sitting money ($5.34) yeah, it's a lot I know.... and I hired out the two biggest boys I could find in the neighborhood. Wait... does that make me a mafia chick? Who cares?!
The next day Mike and Brett showed up at the bus stop just as Carl was going through the nose routine with my brother and the other kids were wincing and watching. THEN! Words of Joy!
"HEY CAAAAAARL....... WHATCHA DOIN?" said Brett.
Mike didn't say anything. He was a foot taller than Brett. He just kept pounding his fists together.
Carl didn't look so good. My brother looked strangely relieved.
Carl's nose didn't look so good either. In fact, I think Carl's Dad had a long conversation with the bus driver later on who strangely knew nothing of the entire incident. He said something like...... "I know nothing... I just work here."
Years later, my brother the millionaire has been complemented many times over on his excellent nose for business. I just know I took action , a positive action to block a violent one. Maybe it was the right one, maybe not. It was the best I could do at my age. Sometimes solving an abusive crisis is about doing the best you can do at your age with what you have to work with.
So were some other amazing young ladies I'd like to talk about. The first year I went to the Miss Utah pageant (go ahead and guess .... I'll never tell!)
I did fairly well in the preliminary competition. I won the talent award which is a VERY big deal. The talent award means you're IN. At least in the top 5. I also got a $2,000 scholarship for that alone which was very valuable to me in continuing my education. The night of my evening gown competition came and I was pretty excited. I was wearing a dress I had beaded myself. This dress took my hours to make. 128,000 beads.... I counted them all! It was blue and sparkled like the night sky. It was gorgeous. I couldn't afford one of the store bought dresses like some of the other girls had, but this dress seriously looked like something a fairy god mother could whip up. I was ecstatic about wearing it! I came back stage to put it on and then my heart sank. There was my evening gown, hanging on the rack, with the hem cut to shreds. I only had 10 minutes to change before I had to be on stage in front of the judges. I burst into tears. Someone had deliberately done this to me!!!! The pageant directors couldn't believe it. I was in shock. Someone was trying to take me out of the competition. If I lost evening gown, I was out. I didn't know what to do... I just stood there crying. I looked at my best friend and as fast as lightning she yelled to everyone girl in the dressing room to grab needles and thread. Then they grabbed me, pulled the dress over my head, fixed my hair, and re-did my makeup. At least eight more of them were all around me sewing like mad to tack up the hemline ... and we only had four minutes until I competed. They literally pushed me out onto the stage when my name was called. To my surprise, I won an evening gown award also! The girls shouted and hugged each other! A victory for the good side!!!!! The judges said I had such a sparkling smile they never even noticed my hem on the dress. Those girls saved my life that night. I'll never know who the 'bullies' were that time, and it doesn't really matter. What mattered is who cheered the loudest when I placed in the top 5. My new friends. I truly felt like Cinderella with my new gown and a new attitude about making a difference.
If you see someone in a victimized situation and if you've chosen to do nothing, don't think you haven't made a choice. You have my friend. Truthfully, if more of us checked on each other more often, stood up and said something or just stopped pretending nothing was wrong for once; so much pain and hurt could be stopped!
What's it going to take for you to stop pretending nothing's wrong? "Love at arm's length" simply means this: Be wise. Avoid familiarity with something or someone who doesn't deserve or hasn't earned your trust. Learn to trust yourself and protect your heart at all costs. Treat other's hearts with the same respect and transparency you want for your own. If someone is secretive with you and want's to hide something, run. Fast. Keep your distance. Protect people even if you might get hurt. Character is who you really are when no one else is watching."
Just remember .... someone really is watching. And YOU can make a difference.
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