Bullying: Scars of Soul

October is National Bullying Prevention Month. 

I want to share my story and insights on a BIG problem that's not only affected many lives throughout history but is still widespread today.

At around eight or nine years of age, I became a victim of bullying, commonly known as "teasing" back then.

The phrase "boys will be boys" was often used to excuse my bully's behavior. Did it mean boys were entitled to unacceptable behavior because they were boys? Did "boys will be boys" justify schoolyard bullying? 

In hindsight, I see a double standard: Depending on who you were, unacceptable behavior got swept under the rug, brushed off, and seen as "trivial." Consequently, the abuse continued at the expense of my positive school life experience and, no doubt, the lives of others who fell prey to bullying. 

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." I'd recite this popular childhood rhyme to myself as I hurried past my tormentors in the schoolyard—the snickers of bystanders echoing behind me while "stink bomb, you're ugly, you're stupid" pierced through the air and landed blows that shook me to the core. 

What a myth I fed myself as a child—that sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me, a weak coping mechanism, at best, to likely lessen the sting of my bully's words. 

Hateful words hurt. They have power. They are forceful and convincing. They penetrate the heart, mind, and soul and have long-lasting effects.

While my bullies may not have hurt me physically by throwing sticks and stones, their horrific words oozed into my identity, leaving an indelible imprint on my soul and changing how I viewed myself and others. At the most tender and vulnerable time, my bullies' incessant name-calling stripped away my self-esteem.

Yet, I had the resolve and grit to rise above. And as an adult, I thought I'd done just that: rose above. I thought I'd dismissed the scars from my bully's name-calling. As far as I was concerned, bullying happened to me as a kid; therefore, it was just a part of growing up. 

Nothing could have been further from the truth.  

Years later, circumstances forced me to sift through the scar tissue of my youth. Although other factors played a part in my emotional wounds, addressing, acknowledging, and grieving the immense scars of the soul from my bullies contributed to a pivotal role in my healing journey.  

 

It stands to reason why condescending tones often sent off triggers, where I'd become that little girl back in the schoolyard again. Scared. Wounded. Angry. Hurt. Afraid.

It stands to reason why I became a people pleaser, perfectionist, and workaholic: to prove my worth.

You may be reading this thinking: This resonates with me. It's my story, too!

If so, please know this. Scars don't vanish. Wounds that don't get treated don't heal because we've moved on as adults. Healing can only begin when we face the scars and confront them for what they are. (Bear in mind that we may need professional help to face our deepest scares.) 

 

Bullies, and even bystanders, have no idea how bullying affects the victim. They have no idea the daily havoc their words and actions play on our psyche and influence our lives for years to come. 

Why do bullies bully? 

 

In my understanding, bullies bully because they act out of insecurity to gain personal power at the expense of the weaker and most vulnerable. Some bullies may have been victims of bullying themselves, so they feed off the power they get from their bystanders' laughter of approval. It's a short-lived adrenaline fix where the "bullier" thinks they've turned the tables on their own pain. 

Who is a target for bullying? 

Anyone can be a target of bullying, but more so for those who are different. In my case, living in a small town where everyone knew my family was poor, my bullies saw me as "less than," someone who didn't fit the "norm." An easy target to exploit. 

I'm not letting myself off the hook here. I've also hurt others with my words, often with a knee-jerk response because I felt attacked.

 "Hurting people hurt people," this I know. And I never want my grandkids to feel the pain that haunted me. 

But it's inevitable that my three grandsons (one with autism), raised by two moms, will be an easier target than most for bullying. The two oldest have already felt the bully's sting, and I fear it will only get worse, especially in this new politically charged environment of evolving distrust and hate.

By sharing my experience, I hope it will not only help others tell their story but also shed light on what's still so prevalent in our society/schools today: face-to-face bullying and cyberbullying. 

Because even though there's much more awareness than when I was a kid, bullying isn't limited to schoolyards. At least when the school bell rang to end my day, I could escape from my bullies. 

Today, internet technology has fostered an environment that has given birth to cyberbullying, extending bullying beyond the schoolyard 24/7. 

Cyberbullying (in many ways) is even scarier than face-to-face bullying since it's the most well-hidden way for a bully to sit behind a screen and taunt others with their words, mainly affecting young youth and adolescents, making them feel alone and unworthy. Sadly, some even take their own life. 

Bottom line: We need to be fully present, fully invested, in our children and not dismiss bullying as "just a part of growing up" because—whether it was back in my day or the present day—bullying isn't a natural part of childhood; bullying is a painful and traumatic experience, with long-lasting scars that can affect the victim's development, learning skills, and self-esteem, leading to anxiety, depression, and feelings of shame. (Teasing isn't teasing if it causes harm.)

As a society, let's stand together and be a voice for the voiceless. Despite our views and differences, let's treat others how we want to be treated. 

If we can do this, I have faith that the environment promoting bullying will begin to lift like fog, and our children will have a more inclusive, brighter future. 

Thank you. 

Time

Time is elusive, yet it ticks by at the same rate for all humanity. We can't bank time. But we can, undoubtedly, squander it. We can't halt time's progression. But we can learn to make the most of it. 

Do you ever wish that you could travel through time to correct past mistakes or clear the future of its obstacles? 

Unfortunately (even if we wanted to), we can't eliminate the messiness of our lives or rewrite history. And while we can influence the future through our choices and actions, only time can tell the real story.

Looking back, one of the things I'm most grateful for is personal growth. Unraveling those parts of myself that I'd forgotten or left behind has brought me to a much happier, fulfilled, and healthier place. 

Yet, as I age, my perception of time keeps evolving because, despite the routine and mundane moments I'd pre-retirement, life seems to be flying by at this stage. The phrase "time's a-wasting" reminds me to tune out the distractions of everyday life and focus on the beauty surrounding me.

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."—Maya Angelo.

Whether holding our newborn baby/babies for the first time, witnessing a spectacular sunset or rainbow, being out in nature, or standing on a mountaintop, we remember those moments that took our breath away; we remember the indescribable awe, like time stood still briefly, as we became fully present to notice and appreciate what was before us. In that sense, I agree with Maya Angelo.

But what about those other defining moments that took our breath away by sucker-punching us in the gut, forever changing the direction of our lives in a split second?

One such time for me was in 1987 when my mother suddenly died. 

Time will heal you; time will lessen the sadness," well-meaning friends kept telling me. 

"One of the realities of grief and loss is that the rest of the world seems to keep on going forward while we feel like we have been stopped in our tracks." —Alan Wolfelt. 

 I waited for "time" to do its thing as the world moved on without me. But it was as if time had stood still. 

I couldn't look to the past because it was too painful. I couldn't look into the future because my mother wouldn't be there. If anything, I wanted to go back in time. In other words, I wanted my life to return to how it was before my mother died.

When our life's sand-glass plugs off and traps us in turmoil—even though the grains of our lives will look and feel differently—the sands of time will flow again. We can't see this in the throes of grief. Nor should we. Nevertheless, as we journey out of the valley, we will experience awe, wonder, and joy and live life to the fullest again. 

Thirty-six years have ticked by since my mother died. Although she hasn't moved through time with me, no length of time has erased her from my heart.

Time. It's constantly in motion and stops for no one. 

Time in grief, however, allows us to (slowly) zoom in and greet each milestone in whatever way our emotions present, giving us the means to let go of the past and move into the future with a "new normal" without our loved ones. 

Each breath we take is God's gift of time. Still, how we spend it can be a complicated question. 

We can choose to heal those broken and estranged relationships. We can choose to forgive. (Remember, forgiveness is for ourselves. It's not for the person who hurt us, and not necessarily for reconciliation with that person.) And we can choose to make peace with our past while looking forward to the possibilities time offers us.

 If you are reading this and are struggling, I pray you will find a safe and healthy space to embrace the "now" once again. (Be patient with yourself. Take your time.) 

The Butterfly and the Moth

 Did you know that butterfly and the moth are from the same Lepidoptera family? Yet many adore the butterfly and dislike the moth.

I am in the "dislike the moths camp." I find them creepy to look at, especially the larger ones. Their dull, almost alien appearance represents the insect world's less attractive side. In contrast, the butterflies are colorful and represent nature's beauty.

Besides the moths and butterflies' appearances, another significant difference is that 

while most moths lurk in the dark, butterflies flutter elegantly in the light of day. 

I remember summer nights on our patio when Derick and I'd turn the light on over the door. Moths would come in droves and bounce off the light fixture. And even after we'd turned the light off, the notorious night-flying creatures continued to fly aimlessly in the dark.

Those moths remind me of the tale of the lost sheep trying to find their way back to their flock, with the light acting as the Good Shepherd calling them home.

As Christians, we are like that outdoor light, powered by the Holy Spirit, illuminating the light of Christ through us. And although our human beacon may flicker at times, the welcoming light of Christ is always present within us, guiding and teaching us to embrace others without exclusion.

After all, we are all part of the same human family created by God; therefore, we should equally celebrate and respect each other's diverse lifestyles and cultural backgrounds. But unfortunately, ingroup bias is prominent in our society, and it's discouraging to see some groups favored while others are ignored. 

When you observe a homeless person, the LGBTQ+, or other marginalized groups, what do you see? A butterfly or a moth?

While I strive to see a butterfly in everyone, I've been guilty of shooing people away with my words and actions. I've looked at a person and seen them as a butterfly, only to see that person as a moth once I knew more about them. Still, there were other times when I'd witnessed what I thought was a moth that turned out to be a beautiful butterfly.

Thankfully, when I become judgemental (as we all do), the light of Christ is always on over my door, guiding me back home, wiser and more compassionate to be acceptant of my broader human family.

How about when you look in the mirror? What do you see? A butterfly or a moth?

For me, it all depends on the day. The reflections of my youth and older self portray a lifetime of growth and change.

I thought I was unworthy of love and belonging in my younger years. Like a moth, I felt like a nuisance and a pest, always hiding in the shadows. Then as I grew older, I realized I was scared to leave the comfy zone I'd created, not unlike a butterfly that remains camouflaged on a branch, afraid to spread its colorful wings.

But I've learned to silence my doubts and fears and no longer live in a cocoon. Instead, I embrace both the moth and the butterfly aspects of myself today.

Why?

Because my experiences—whether hidden in the dark like a moth or on full display like a butterfly—significantly impact who I've become. 

Furthermore, Christ teaches us to acknowledge all aspects of ourselves, including the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's how we transform into creatures of the light and see the world through His eyes.

So the next time you see moths flying around your light at night, envision them as the marginalized attracted to your light, and each time you hold out your hand to welcome them instead of "figuratively" swatting them away, God smiles and says, "Well done good and faithful servant."

Bottom line: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and God sees beauty in us all, so we should too. 

The Shadowy Slope of Life

Behind every shadow cast, there must be light since, without light, the shadow would disappear.

On the other hand, something must partially block the light for the shadow to appear in the first place. 

I grew up in an era without cell phones or video games. Our black-and-white TV only had two channels. It was like watching shadowy pictures through a constant snowfall of static. 

Yet my siblings and I were rarely bored; we entertained ourselves in other ways, as simple as chasing our shadows. We'd mimic and frolic after them and even got frustrated when we couldn't outrun them. 

Unresolved grief, the effects of trauma, hiding one's sexual orientation, or other present and past issues, are internal shadows with the same control in that we can never outrun them. 

However, unlike our external shadows, light isn't needed to produce the shadows we carry within. On the contrary, light is needed to expose the shadows lurking inside the mind.

Unfortunately, we live in a society that often forces us into the shadow realm of "faking it until we make it." In the process, we deny or suppress or hide parts of ourselves to fit in, and years later, we are still held hostage, detached from our true selves, unable to sever the shadows that bind us.

 

Carl Jung, one of the greatest psychologists of the 20th century, quoted:" In every adult, there lurks a child…that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education. That is the part of the personality which wants to develop and become whole."

In retrospect, Jung's words are so true to my life. Left uncared for and traumatized, my inner child lurked so far inside the shadows of my mind that even as her cries manifested into feelings of being isolated, unworthy, anxious, and often on edge, her voice could not breach the echo chamber of deception. We were both stuck on the shadowy slope of life, unable to merge and move forward, until she finally caught my attention in my mid-forties.

Everything changed after I sought counseling and began confronting and bringing my youth's shadows into the light. It was the beginning of healing for both the adult version of myself and the little girl I'd left behind. And even though some of my past shadows are like boomerangs, my inner child and I now face them together, forever learning, evolving, and working toward the light.

And in one form or another, I often write about the shadowy parts of my past, not because I am an expert by any means, but because I know from experience how vital inner child work is for our overall well-being and how, when left at the helm, our shadows not only affect us; they affect the people around us as well. 

Furthermore, without exposure to the light, our shadows will hold out on becoming our greatest teachers. Why? Because they hold the key that locks us from becoming our true selves, they conceal the secrets that squash our happiness and deny us the freedom to reach our full potential. 

I know all too well that it isn't easy to believe in the light behind the shadow during life's struggles. As a result, our spirit may wander toward our darker shadow self since—at that moment—we cannot see a lit path forward. 

Most of you know my story and the shadow I hid behind after my daughter came out gay. However, the light of love overcame the shadow of estrangement and lit the path toward an amazing relationship with my daughter, her wife, and three grandsons.

Falling behind the shadow of domestic abuse at nineteen also left me feeling helpless and unworthy of love. Yet, once again, the light shone beyond the shadow and lit the path that led me to my wonderful, caring husband of forty-one years.   

Perhaps being trapped in the maze of the mind for so many years is why I'm always fascinated by the symbolism the cycle of life portrays in nature, especially during springtime, as spring reminds me of new birth, where the shadow of the dead-looking trees will soon bud into blooming flowers again. 

And it's so fitting that Easter, the ultimate celebration of life, also occurs during this season of renewal. A time when Christ endured much suffering, yet, in the end, He conquered the shadow of death through His resurrection.

While our journey on this earth will always cast new shadows upon us, Easter gives us hope that life will re-bloom—despite dark and dreary days—because Christ is always there, shadow-hunting on our behalf, patiently waiting to breathe new life into us again.    

                                                     Happy Easter!

                                                  

                                                                     

Clay in the Potter’s Hands

When I think of our spiritual lives, I liken it to how we are but clay in the Potter's hands, designed to go through the "messiness" of the pottery process. 

Many of us have been crushed and broken by life's circumstances, often hardening our hearts and causing us to resist the molding process.

"The world breaks everyone, then some become strong at the broken places." Ernest Hemingway. 

Hemingway's quote reminds me of times when I felt broken and how I found the strength to persevere in those broken places. 

Looking back now (although I resisted the Potter), I believe He was still sprinkling "love water" on my dirt, softening it and preparing me for the healing power of His wheel.

Then in 2004, I took a leap of faith and dared to become wet clay again. I dared to embrace vulnerability and be molded anew. It's been challenging for me to give up control, to trust the process and timing of the Potter. I am, after all, a stubborn creature by nature and sometimes venture off His wheel—only to find myself "splat" back on again so that His loving hands can resume their work.

When we place our lives in the Potter's hands, it's just the beginning of our pottery transformation. Like clay has to undergo several processes before it transcends into a beautiful piece of art, the Potter has unique methods of working in and through us to soften our hearts and smooth out all the rough edges. It can be a messy and fragile undertaking because, in reality, our hearts don't become hardened overnight; therefore, healing isn't an immediate fix. 

The thing is, this life will always leave us marred and broken in some way. So we will constantly evolve as our lives are molded and reworked here on Earth. Our part in that process is to remain open, humble, and pliable, which isn't always easy.

Why? 

Because even when we are back on the Potter's wheel feeling good about our progress, a life twist can occur at any given moment, repeatedly testing our faith and making us less flexible in His hands. 

One such test came when my daughter openly admitted she was gay. The shockwave initiated by her coming out rattled my core beliefs and caused me to become wobbly and off-centered on the Potter's wheel. Hearing the harshness toward homosexuality (especially at church) suddenly became like daggers to my heart as I cringed in the pew, not knowing when the preacher would indirectly speak those painful words toward my daughter again.

So for my spiritual and mental well-being, I took a two-year hiatus away from church but remained pliable in the Potter's hands, and even though I mumbled and grumbled and flopped around, I became centered again. During that time, my understanding and love for the Potter grew, and I finally realized that He loved my daughter as much as I did. 

A short time later, the Potter opened the doors of Burns Mosa to our family. Their Christ-like love, kindness, and acceptance gave us a new church family, and Burns became a part of our pottery process, for which we will be forever grateful. 

What the world may discard as a lifeless piece of clay, the Potter envisions something extraordinary. 

I don't know what struggles you are facing. But please know this: You are not alone. You are not a failure. You aren't worthless. You are loved and redeemable. You are the clay in the Potter's hands, a beautiful piece of art, despite your scars. And He desires to mold you into the extraordinary vessel you were meant to become.

                                     

Does Everything Happen for a Reason?

You are in tears, sharing a painful experience with a friend; she consoles you and utters the words, "everything happens for a reason."

Admittedly, you know your friend is being genuine. You know she has your best interest at heart. But you don't feel it at that moment — instead, you feel a little annoyed and dumbfounded. You think, "What possible reason would justify this shroud of darkness?" 

Everything happens for a reason is a common cliché used among Christians and non-Christians. It can be an inspiring catchphrase if the timing and context are right. But in my experience, more often than not, it's used out of context.  

So why is this cliché (and so many others) thrown around so loosely, especially in the face of grief and human suffering? 

To be fair: People mean well. I don't think anyone's motive is to add confusion to one's suffering. Many are ill-prepared to deal with grief and loss — to deal with the discomfort of others' pain, of the awkward silence grief can present. So they fumble on what to say. But more importantly, what not to say. And end up saying clichés such as everything happens for a reason.

 I am in no way letting myself off the hook here. I, too, have been guilty of uttering everything happens for a reason without considering how my words might have affected the person on the receiving end. But since working through personal grief and doing extensive research on grief and loss, my views have evolved. 

Through healing, with time and distance, I've (slowly) ripped the band-aids off my emotional wounds and taken a deeper look at my scars, bringing a new perspective and awareness to them. 

So have I found reasons to use the traumatic events in my life for the greater good? Yes. I've discovered purpose in my pain if you will. 

Do I believe my pain happened to produce that purpose? Absolutely not. 

On my life's journey, I am reminded that even when I enjoy life to the fullest, others are deep in grief and pain. And so, for me, to insinuate everything happens for a reason is to send out the message that God orchestrates and causes "all" bad things to happen. That it's His will to inflict pain and suffering on His children, that evil doesn't exist, and that He has a divine purpose for every ordeal we face.  

Think about it. 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for provoking so much injustice and abuse in the world? 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for inciting someone to open fire on innocent people? 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for someone being sexually abused? 

For what possible reason would a loving God have for causing someone to get cancer?

Unfortunately, we live in a fallen world where terrible events continue to inflict pain. And whether we believe everything happens for a reason or not, we must handle it with care. The most crucial consideration should be how the person on the receiving end will interpret the words we say, bearing in mind that sometimes there is no justification or logical explanation for why certain things happen. 

But as believers, we can take comfort that our pain isn't meaningless because of the Cross. We can rest assured that God does see the bigger picture, that He's there in our grief and suffering, healing those broken places in our hearts so that we can (in time) rise above and become pillars of light and support for others. Nothing is wasted if we place it in God's hands. 

The Meandering Road of Life

Do you feel like you're meandering through life without meaning or purpose? Do you question the path that you're on? Do you feel like something is missing in your life, but you can't quite put your finger on it?

Most of us like to keep existence simple. We want the road that we're on to be straightforward. But then life happens. And we find ourselves meandering through unknown territory. While some turns are wondrous and beautiful, others are dark and traumatic, sending us into a wobble — to the point where there appears to be no path forward anymore.

Looking back now, it's clear that I felt out of place in this world, like a misfit, meandering aimlessly. Thereby, much of my energy was spent trying to figure out where I belonged, so much so that my external world became so loud it'd drowned out the calm, whispering voice of my soul. 

I read once that you can only give so much of yourself away before you have nothing left to give. And it's so true; we can become inwardly depleted and unrecognizable to ourselves. 

We are all wandering creatures by nature, each on a mission to find our place in this world. And even though some find it, others of us are like nomads, meandering and searching until suddenly we are nudged, prompted by the universe to make the journey back home for the well-being of our emotional, mental, and spiritual state.

In 2004, I hit a crossroads. Nothing made sense. There was no purpose or meaning in my life. Yet (the confusing part was) I'd a beautiful life.

So what was wrong? What had left me discontented and ungrateful for the life that I had? 

In truth: I'd lost touch with God and my innermost self. In other words: I'd lost my way home.

I'd masked my past traumas and meandered into the future with a clouded perception of what was essential in life. As a result, I experienced a tug-of-war between the external world and my spirit, making me feel like a part of me was broken — needed fixing, when, in reality, all I had to do was "let go of the rope" and trust God to show me the way home.

Actually, hitting that crossroads in 2004 was a beckoning to begin my search for "home," the beginning of what's been a long meandering trek of introspection and self-awareness. A purifying training ground, if you will, that brought me back to God, that guided me into a better understanding of myself, and that helped me find meaning in the events that'd happened to me. 

Of course, the road has become more manageable with God at the helm. It's not that the road is necessarily straighter by any means. It's just that I am not alone. I now have a traveling companion, a supreme navigator, to help me get back on track. 

If we are honest, there's a place within all of us that's unsatisfied and longs for something more. I don't mean more money or an accumulation of more stuff but rather a "spiritual hunger" that only God can fill. As Saint Augustine quoted: "Our hearts are restless until it rests in thee." 

This simple yet so profound quote by Augustine has significant meaning if you think about it. Because — as we meander along life's road — it's a given that our hearts will wander and become restless. We're human, after all. But how wonderful is it that we can always regain spiritual perspective by resting in thee?

PS: I'm still a misfit in many ways. But understanding that we are all uniquely created, I am okay with being different, with going off-the-beaten-path, if it doesn't negatively impact my spiritual health, that is.