I’ve experienced bullying all my life, including from adults. Children were there to be put down and made fun of, and this is the normal I grew up with.
I learned something was wrong with me for being “too sensitive”.
“Not understanding jokes.”
“A whiny baby who needs to toughen up.”
Otherwise, how would I make in the world if I cried when my classmates ostracized me from one day to the next?
When the adults in my life assured me I’d have to deal with this until high school?
When being abandoned and not caring about it meant being strong?
My sensitivity is my gift. It’s a gift I’ve had to bury for 23 years.
I’ve been shamed and humiliated for this gift.
Which is why I tried so hard to destroy it.
To become like the people who trampled it.
I wanted to be like my bullies, so I bullied myself.
I became my own worst enemy.
I had zero connection to my body. I even joked that my body wanted one thing and my mind another, forever in dispute and disharmony.
And how could I not think that?
My environment shunned my body’s natural expression, so obviously something was wrong with me.
It wasn’t until life hit me with one hell of a trauma bond that I worked my way back to my preverbal pain.
I returned to my body. I gave my body permission to feel and scream and sob.
I entered a healthy relationship with my body.
And that’s something no one can take away.
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