Eating Lunch in the Bathroom: My Story

I have a unique perspective on and experience with the issue of bullying. 

I am a bullying survivor.  I know first-hand how it feels and the sense of helplessness when you're not protected, not believed, and the behavior doesn't stop. 

I was bullied almost every day from 5th through 8th grades.  My breasts began to develop at age 10 (obviously much sooner than my peers), and I was the constant target of unwanted attention, ridicule, touching and physical contact.  I cried every morning and begged my mother to not send me to school.  I came home crying every afternoon, feeling lonely, dirty and scared.  

Fifth grade was the year that we started taking showers after gym.  The thought of getting undressed in front of my peers made me physically ill, but the gym teacher mandated that any one of us must report back to him if anyone didn't take a shower.  I had no choice.  I didn't want to be tattled on and be humiliated by Mr. Miller's stern lecture about hygiene. 

I was the center of attention when I took my blouse off in front of the other girls.  Some were obvious and hovered around me while others passively looked on, all trying to get a peep at my breasts.  I tried to keep a towel around me so they couldn't see, but obviously they got an eyefull when I got under the water.  I saw them staring, pointing and giggling.  One girl called me a freak.  I remember trying to make my body look smaller by crouching and turning away.  What I really wanted was to be invisible.

One day after my post-gym shower, I went to my locker and saw that my bra was missing.  I frantically looked everywhere, wanting to burst into tears.  I panicked because I had worn a red-and-white gingham button-up blouse, and knew that it would be obvious if I didn't have my bra on.  One girl called to me from the bathroom, where I found my bra floating in the toilet, completely soaked.  I didn't know what to do.  I was late getting back to class, and was so humiliated and upset.  I knew I would get in trouble no matter which way I turned.

So I went to the school nurse to ask for help, and she scolded me for not putting a lock on my locker and I needed to get back to my class.  Unable (and unwilling) to put the wet bra on, I went back to class, folding my arms across my chest.  Mrs. Livingston was angry that I was so late.  The girls had told the boys what had happened, and everyone in the class stared at me and laughed under their breath.

My eyes are welling up even now as I recall this story. 

Girls weren't the only ones who hurt me.  Boys would walk behind and snap the back of my bra.  Others would say loudly (in a crowded hallway), "Thorpe stuffs her bra!"  In the lunch room, one boy came up behind me and grabbed one of my breasts.  I was horrified and humiliated.  When I told on him, he and his buddies had a good laugh, but I was admonished by the monitor for "causing a fuss" and was made to sit next to her for the rest of lunch period.  I was also sent to the principal's office, where I got a good talking to. 

No matter how many times it happened and the number of times I complained, the principal treated this matter as a "boys will be boys" behavior:

"Well, you do look different than your peers and are a source of interest.  That can't be helped." 
"They don't mean anything by it, they're just teasing." 
 "You're much too sensitive, Robyn.  You need to get a thicker skin." (The 11-year-old me had no idea what that meant.) 

Teachers accused me of seeking attention. 

Shame on them for not protecting me. 

(Oddly, this looks just like me.)

If you can believe it, moving up to the middle school was worse.  To avoid the daily verbal taunting and unwanted physical contact in the under-supervised cafeteria, I ate lunch every day in the girls’ bathroom, second floor, last stall.  I really did.

My mother was my staunchest advocate.  She called the parents of a boy who bothered me relentlessly in sixth grade.  He said he'd leave me alone if I let him see my boobs.  Mom said in her most assertive tone, "My daughter has had enough.  She will not show her breasts to anyone, including your son.  If he doesn't stop bothering her immediately, I will bring legal action against you and your husband."  The next day (and every day thereafter), that boy didn't even look my way.  Go Mom.

As I enjoyed a short reprieve and began to feel less singled-out, other boys stepped in and took over those horrible behaviors.  Middle school was Absolute Hell for me and I have very few fond memories of that time.  Imagine my relief when the bullying all but disappeared in high school...probably because all of my female peers had breasts by then too.  However, the self-consciousness that developed as a result of what physically identifies me as female lives on to this day.

(Wish I'd had her confidenceback then.)

I also suffered relentless bullying as an obese adult.  I was mistreated repeatedly by people who didn’t know me.  They knew nothing of my membership in Phi Beta Kappa, my expertise as a skilled and seasoned Master’s level mental health counselor, my integrity and good work ethic, how much I adore my family, and the peace and catharsis I get from tending to my English garden.  And yet, bullies treated me as though I wasn't human.   The emotional torture, psychological abuse, unwanted touching, taunting, threats and epithets were slung my way on a daily basis.  I was frightened, humiliated, and emotionally beaten down.  It felt like middle school all over again. 

On the other side of this coin, I have many years of professional experience providing counseling to bullying targets.  As a mental health professional, I’ve heard countless heart-wrenching stories of how people are purposely hurt and humiliated by others.  It’s often difficult to keep myself from crying when targeted people share their torment.  Many turn to drugs, alcohol and shopping to numb their feelings and attempt to wipe away memories.  (Food was my substance of choice.  No surprise.)  Some targets become bullies themselves.  Others get involved in abusive relationships.  

I’ve also provided counseling to people who have bullied others.  It didn’t surprise me when I learned that these “bullies” weren’t horrible, awful people per se; they were in just as much emotional pain as their targets.  They came from environments where they were abused, ignored, shamed, and mistreated.  They were scared, unsure, and had extremely low self-esteem, too.  The difference is that they used bullying behaviors as a way to cope with their deep-seated pain and feelings of inadequacy.

 

I am always profoundly impacted by the insidious pain because I’ve been there myself.  It's tragic for all parties involved.

The irony is, though, that bullying can be prevented.  Bullying behaviors can be unlearned, and humane ways of treating others can be taught at any age.  Having this complete view of the profound, detrimental and long-lasting psychosocial impact bullying has on everyone involved has served me well in my research and in developing a research-based comprehensive civility-building program initiative which will be piloted on community colleges across the United States.

A culture of acceptance and respecting our fellow humans is within our reach.  This fills me with hope and energizes me to take action every day in my little corner of the universe.  My dream is to have the influence, financial means and support to make a difference in building a bully-free world where no one has to ever eat lunch in the bathroom.  

(c) Copyright 2013-2014 Robyn Posson King.  All Rights Reserved.