(story by Mir, from WouldaCouldaShoulda, a chestist)
When I was little, I wanted long, pretty fingernails like my mom's (hers were very long, and always brightly painted). I was sure that they would make me beautiful. But I was kind of a rough and messy kid, and often as not, I had a couple of longish nails and eight ragged ones that were broken or chewed or both.
I wasn't very big, and I wasn't very strong, but at some point—maybe the first time was an accident, even—I learned that sinking my nails into the arms of another kid who was bothering me was a surprisingly effective weapon. All I had to do was grab and dig those sharp nail tips into soft flesh, and whatever problem I'd been having was going to run away crying in very short order.
It didn't take long to figure out that this wasn't a terribly stealthy way to misbehave. When the wails of discontent were countered with, "What happened??" it only took a single, "MIR CLAWED ME!" for my fate to be sealed. I couldn't protest and say I hadn't, because the tell-tale half moons left behind told a red and angry story no matter what I might have to say. I had plenty to say, though, whether I was busted or not—I was happy to expound upon whatever injustice had precipitated the incident, but it didn't matter. I had done something wrong and I got in trouble.
My memories of most of those instances are vague. I know I felt like I just didn't have a choice; something Wrong was being done and the only way I could stop it was to use my nails. As a kid I didn't know the phrase "by any means necessary," but that was more or less what I was thinking. I got picked on a lot, and I'd never been able to stop it before I started using my nails against the kids who were hassling me. Maybe I was still getting picked on, but at least when I felt flesh sinking under my fingertips, I knew I was inflicting an equal measure of pain, and I know that made me feel better.
I got in trouble at school and I got in trouble at home, but I kept doing it. It made me feel powerful to have this one weapon that always stopped other kids in their tracks. Summer came and I started getting in trouble at sleep-away camp, too. And I loved camp—it was my favorite part of the year. But every time I reacted against another kid by sinking my nails into their flesh, I got into Really Big Trouble. In fact, the camp director called me in to her office one day and explained that if I couldn't get this "little problem" under control, she was going to have to call my parents and I would have to go home.
No other threat had struck such fear into my heart. I would stop. I begged her not to call my parents. I'd be good! I wouldn't hurt anyone else! And I meant to keep my word.
A few days later, a Very Mean Girl walked up while I was sharing some candy from my stash with the other girls in my bunk. "I want some," she said.
"I'm sharing the jawbreakers," I said, warily holding the small box out her way. "If you want a jawbreaker, you can have one."
Do you know what she did? She said something about how she didn't like jawbreakers, and instead reached in and grabbed the one Ring Pop in the entire box. I think there was a collective gasp from the other girls. "You can't have that one," I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. "I'm sharing the jawbreakers, not my last Ring Pop. Put it back."
"No," she said. She folded her free hand over the one holding the stolen candy. Her look said, "What are you gonna do about it?"
I, of course, put down the candy box on my bunk and lunged for her. Mindful of the warning about what would happen if I hurt anyone else, I first tried to pry her hands open. I was unsuccessful, and she laughed at me while I did it. Finally I managed to drag her outside the cabin and called for a counselor to come. I called and called (it must've been a free period of some kind) and finally one of them appeared, hairdryer in hand, and I held the struggling Mean Girl firmly but without hurting her, and told the counselor that my candy had been taken and she wouldn't give it back. The Mean Girl smirked and said, "I have no idea what she's talking about. This is mine." The counselor kind of shrugged and told us to work it out, and went back inside.
That left the two of us standing there, and I had done what I was told to do: I asked for help instead of using my nails. And it hadn't helped, at all. So I did what I knew worked: I clawed her as hard as I could, and she eventually cried, let go of the candy, yelled and screamed, and went and told on me.
(I got lucky; the camp director listened to my tearful story of how I'd tried to be good but the counselor hadn't helped when I asked, and I was not sent home.)
I don't know how much longer it was before I stopped clawing people when I was displeased, but I do know that it was something I did out of desperation, when I felt like "playing nice" wasn't getting me anywhere. I stopped using my nails by the time I was a teenager, but by then I'd learned that words could be used similarly, barbed and sharp and able to cut someone to the quick if rendered just so.
Halfway through my life, I'm still learning that just because I CAN doesn't mean that I SHOULD, and that the temporary satisfaction of a tit-for-tat hurt does not, in fact, heal my own hurt, or make the other person any less likely to hurt me in the future. As I try to teach my own children not to strike out in anger—either physically or verbally—I realize it's a lesson I'm still working on, myself. (Old claws die hard, maybe.) But when I notice a situation where my first inclination was to attack (in one manner or another) and I managed to resist that urge, I realize that that alone is often enough to make whatever the precipitating hurt was sting just a little less.
Do you strike out? How do you quell the urge when you're feeling hurt or angry?
(To fill up on more Mir, go here.)
I was never one for striking out physically or verbally when I was younger because I was painfully shy and very small. I just ignored whoever was doing whatever and went about my own business. This allowed me to be who I wanted and do what I wanted without worrying about what the other kids were going to say or do and that worked out well until middle school.
My best friend got jealous of the time I was spending with another girl. I don’t remember intentionally leaving her out of my new friendship, but regardless, she lashed out at me. She told a lie and spread it as a rumor accusing me of being a thief. It was a horrible couple of weeks (month?) in the eighth grade until I decided to do the hardest thing I’d ever done and speak out to defend myself. In the end, those kids believed me and things went back to normal only I was minus a friend. I learned then that not only could words hurt, but they could help.
From that point on, I stood up for myself, but rarely struck out at anyone. When I did, it was verbal because I’m way better at words than physical action.
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I can’t ever recall striking out physically. While growing up, I’ve definitely punched the bed and wished I could slam the door without getting in trouble.
My worst habit is when I’m angry is that I become very quiet and practically expect the other person to simply know what they’ve done wrong. (This was much worse when I was younger. My mom struggled to ever figure out what was wrong because I believed she should simply know because she was my mom. After all, she was always talking about the third eye in the back of her head.)
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This is one of the traits I sincerely hope my daughter doesn’t end up inheriting from me. I once clawed my brother across the face – hard enough to draw blood. Another time I poked an annoying girl with a pencil – I didn’t think it was that hard but she told the teacher I tried to stab her.
I intend to teach my daughter to stand up for herself physically when needed, but that some battles are best left unfought. I know I always felt worse after I physically lashed out than when I used words or just ignored it. It’s a tough impulse to control.
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I was always quiet and timid in school, and never stood up to the bullies. My daughter (13) is just the opposite; she takes crap from exactly no one. She also has very long, strong fingernails that she actually files into sharp talons. I told her she could keep them that way as long as no one actually got hurt as a result.
One day last year some kid deliberately knocked a beloved item out of her hands, and it cracked when it hit the ground. She lunged and clawed him, drawing blood. The principal call me, and I told him I’d handle it. As promised, when she got home I clipped all her nails off. She grumbled that she was just going to regrow them, and I replied that she was welcome to do that, but the same rule applied: if someone got hurt they would come right off again.
The thing is, she’s in 8th grade now, a grade that I remember being a living hell in my own school days, because the bullies can be downright inhuman at that age. But my daughter is enjoying a serene, nearly bully-free existence — probably in part because they all see those claws and know she’s not afraid to use them if push comes to shove. She’s not stupid or mean, she doesn’t harass other kids. But she is completely unwilling to be pushed around.
I personally can’t imagine clawing anyone, but part of me really admires this child of mine who always, always stands up for herself against would-be bullies. She’s…kind of an inspiration to me.
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Mir, just out of curiosity, did the other girls take your candy while you were dealing with Big Mean Girl?
I was quiet and timid, too….but like a very deep, cold pond when wounded. I would have deviously gotten back at a Mean Girl by putting a squirt of Visine in her soda, or something similarly devious. I had to learn a a similar lesson about Tit-for-Tat infliction of pain. The ability to not get caught at revenge doesn’t make it sweet, at least not if you have a guilty conscience.
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Nah, I think while I was dealing with her they all knew they’d be next if they touched my stuff. Heh. Also, pretty sure everyone was busy watching us to see what happened!
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Words have always been my weapon. Their power when used correctly and timely. The inflection that can make even sweet words ominous. I’ve always been thin. I was bullied horribly because of it in elementary school. Pushed down, tripped up, laughed at. Until I made one friend who needed help in English class. She taught me to stick up for myself (and it was easier b/c people knew we were friends) In high school it was the same. Anorexic. Bulimic. Crackhead. They called me everything they could think of. Until I made friends with a girl who was failing English and Creative Writing. Same scenario. I left high school rather popular and never called names again (to my face). Still, words are what I use when I want to lash out (sarcasm is an art and I know full well how words can hurt. I do think before I speak. Usually). I will admit, though, that occasionally a cast iron pan upside my husband’s head would be a more prudent choice, but THAT is when I employ restraint.
I see much of myself in my oldest daughter (although she is wildly popular for a sixth grader). She is hard to anger, yet when it happens, look out. My middle girl flies off the handle rather easily when she thinks she’s been wronged. She takes up for herself immediately while the oldest is more lax and more agreeable, passive.
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Heh.
I only physically struck out twice – both times against my sister.
I bit her.
I know.
And the first time I bit her in the library, cunningly (and rightly) figuring that she wouldn’t make a fuss because, dude, library!
It worked so well I did it again a few weeks later when we were visiting a set of cousins. They were absolutely appalled and promptly told on me AND showed they thought I was a feral little beast. Never did it again!
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You know, I just haven’t had to strike back lately, much. I was picked on some as a kid but once I got to be full grown size I was big enough people didn’t usually start stuff with me. One guy I know who used to work as a bouncer said that big guys usually never cause any trouble and that’s definitely true in my case.
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I once stabbed my sister with a steak knife over a piece of chocolate pie. I had the pie in one hand and the knife in the other and when she grabbed for the pie, I forgot I had the knife in my hand. I swear, it was pure accident.
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This post was an eye-opener: I always assumed my lashing out with talons was common, but judging by the comments…perhaps not. I’ve always had very strong nails, never bit them, and they grow like weeds if I don’t stay on top of them. When I was a kid, they were quite consciously my weapon of choice against my older sister (but never anyone else). For some reason my sister and my mom used to have the power to infuriate me like nobody’s business. (No more, however.) I’m generally pretty chill and slow to anger. When I feel anger welling up, I usually acknowledge it to myself, take deep breaths, and sometimes walk away. Sometimes I have a talk with myself. This is usually all I need to regroup.
My 13 y.o. daughter used to be more impulsive with her anger. I can see, though, the little gears turning in her head as she works on trying to exercise self-control, and I always try to praise and thank her for doing so. I think restraint can be as much an act of kindness and grace as positive action.
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i have lashed out just once in my life, but it was a doozy. i was the fat shy girl growing up and was teased about everything. i would come home in tears and my mom would say, “sticks and stones…” and hug me. My dad, ever the sensitive fellow, would say, “kick ‘em in the balls” and walk away. I hadn’t yet learned the meaning of sarcasm, and well…..I will never forget the look on the face of the poor boy who fell while chasing me in the snow. To this day I feel bad about it. BUT, that kid never chased, or teased me again, and may or may not have been able to father children. (oops!)
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I grew up in NYC, therefore I endured endless rude, mostly sexual, comments as I walked down the street, rode the subway, waited for the bus, breathed. I never responded, because I was afraid of escalation. A few years later I was in Italy. As I walked down the street a man grabbed my butt. Before I could think, I cursed at him, and then punched him in the chest. We were both incredibly shocked. He walked away, and I was amazed and proud that I had defended myself physically. The verbal abuse I could ignore. Apparently when someone touched me, I lost it.
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Your story hits a chord w/me, bc you ASKED for help, as instructed and DIDN’T GET IT!!!
It drives me nuts that while we say we don’t tolerate bullying, when faced w/the actual event, us adults, seem to be lacking in good answers. My youngest (5) has impulse control issues. We figured out her kryptonite (liquid soap for infractions related to the mouth; biting, talking back, cussing…yeah, she’s 5). That being said, I’ve had to get on her case at sporting events, bc she may not start it, but she’ll finish it. Her mouth is going to get her in trouble…pot meet kettle. However, she only does this (now) when pushed into it. Like I said, she won’t start it, but she won’t take it either.
My older one (8) was faced w/a bullying situation last year, and I gave her a crap answer. (“Boys are jerks. They do that kinda stuff.” God, I suck!) In my defense, I admitted the next day, that it was a crap answer and that she needs to keep telling adults until someone responds correctly. Not a great save, but a start. She did what she was told to do, get an adult. But similar as what happened to you; “I didn’t see it. You two work it out.” I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know, we haven’t worked it out yet. As adults, we need to have follow through, in both words and actions. If a child feels pushed into a situation where they are forced to defend them self physically, someone needs to take a hard look at why. Maybe the kid needs to work on their response, but maybe, the other child is part of the problem too. And if we don’t work on it, the adults are the biggest part of the problem.
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I’m the youngest of three loud, proud, and (as my Nana would say) spit-fire girls. Both of my sisters went for the mental route and tended to gang up on me (hence my current insecurities) so I’ve always been more of the physical fighter. Also, I have a more muscular/stockier frame than my sisters, so I could do some serious damage. I’ve since grown out of it, mostly, but my sisters have upped the mental teasing so my current way to cope without pushing my sister down the stairs….again (I know. I’m horrible. Still getting punished to this day for that) is lots and lots of Tai-Chi. It’s great for meditation and a pretty good workout, for those of us who need that physical release. Totally recommend it.
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Heh. I also found adults utterly useless when I got bullied, and I got bullied very badly for a few years. Then I learned that I can have a sharp tongue. Since I’ve been twelve, I’ve not been bullied, nor have any of my friends. Then I joined debate team in high school, and learned how to use words as weapons even more effectively.
I’m a sophomore in college now, and our frosh think I’m great and nice… and also say that although they’ve never seen me get mad, they really, really don’t want to see me that way, because they’re pretty certain I’d be terrifying. Apparently I learned intimidation tactics fairly well… ^_^
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