Bullying isn't always physical...
/ Photo-Credit: Mens Project
Around 3-4 years ago, I walked past a woman near to where my wife and I were lodging at the time. I looked-up at her as we walked past one another, early evening trees crowding the pavement with their shadows. She didn’t see me but I recognised her instantly. 15 years ago, this woman was someone who I bullied at secondary school (high school).
I never used to hit people. The strange thing is that I would often help other pupils who were being bullied. However for some reason I verbally bullied this girl regularly. Me and around five others would call her all sorts of names. We would say she looked like a monster, that she was fat and had a moustache. Lots of other nasty, thought-less things left our little stupid mouths. She would mostly stay quiet. When she did say something or start crying, as she sometimes did, we would simply apply more pressure, making her feel smaller and smaller with our taunts, aiming spears at her wounded self-esteem.
Peer-pressure makes us do such terrible things. For an insecure person, there’s nothing better than making someone else feel even more insecure than yourself amongst a crowd. They become the centre of negative attention - never you. You see, at the heart of a bully is a quivering coward; someone who is either bullied themselves or is unable to take control of their own life. It's a shame I didn't know then what I know now.
As I walked past, I noticed how she seemed sad. Maybe it was her reclusive posture or her soft, almost apologetic steps. I saw her enter a house on the very same road and instantly knew that’s where she must live. Upon arriving home, I spoke to my wife about it. “What do you mean you’re going to visit her and apologise? She might have finally got over it and you’ll bring it all back. Maybe you just want to do it to make yourself feel better. Is it worth causing her even more pain for your own selfish needs?”
She was partly correct – I did want to feel better. I wanted to tell this woman that I was sorry, that the boy who bullied that girl might have come across as someone self-assured but actually, he was just a weak and insecure idiot. But I also wanted this woman to feel better. I wanted her to know that it wasn't her fault - that she had no reason to ever feel that she was in some way inferior because someone like me had said so. To risk hurting her even more just didn’t seem like a risk worth taking so I never did visit her. However without even realising it, she’s made me visit my previous self.
My memories remind me how much pain thoughtless words can cause, how easy it is to oppress someone and make them feel as though they are powerless. Without even trying, she made me realise that every word that leaves my mouth needs to be full of love. I need to make-up for the person I was, for the pain I caused. It’s the least I can do.
Ever-since being inspired by sikhee, I’ve intuitively felt that to walk away while someone else is being bullied is not permissible. There have been several such minor incidents where I’ve stepped-in and defused such situations. For some inexplicable reason, I believe that I would cease to be a sikh if I didn’t do so. Maybe it’s to do with the way The Satguroo, in the The Ninth Form (Guroo Tegh Bahadur Sahib Jee), so gracefully challenged the despotic Mughal Emperor. “If you can force me to discard my beliefs, then they will follow”, were perhaps the words He uttered, as He protected the Hindu Brahmins (priests) from forced-conversion to Islam.
On another level, I think it’s my subconscious mind. The remnants of the pain I caused this woman and probably many others are still there. The Satguroo has perhaps blessed me with a way to indirectly undo what was done. I certainly hope so.
I’ll never really know if I should have visited that woman. One thing’s for sure though – words are such powerful, potent things that we should treat them with the respect and awe we would treat any other kind of dangerous implement; perhaps even more so.
Ever-since being inspired by sikhee, I’ve intuitively felt that to walk away while someone else is being bullied is not permissible. There have been several such minor incidents where I’ve stepped-in and defused such situations. For some inexplicable reason, I believe that I would cease to be a sikh if I didn’t do so. Maybe it’s to do with the way The Satguroo, in the The Ninth Form (Guroo Tegh Bahadur Sahib Jee), so gracefully challenged the despotic Mughal Emperor. “If you can force me to discard my beliefs, then they will follow”, were perhaps the words He uttered, as He protected the Hindu Brahmins (priests) from forced-conversion to Islam.
On another level, I think it’s my subconscious mind. The remnants of the pain I caused this woman and probably many others are still there. The Satguroo has perhaps blessed me with a way to indirectly undo what was done. I certainly hope so.
I’ll never really know if I should have visited that woman. One thing’s for sure though – words are such powerful, potent things that we should treat them with the respect and awe we would treat any other kind of dangerous implement; perhaps even more so.
Most physical wounds will heal over time – they often disappear without leaving a scar. But words, they can mould us, change us; twist us up inside. Their effects can leave us feeling things that may never go away. Such is the weight of words, the burden that we carry.
( ( ( :-(>>> Atma Singh
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( ( ( :-(>>> Atma Singh
