It Gets Better

In the wake of a rash of teen suicides brought on by bullying, columnist Dan Savage began the It Gets Better campaign.  The project's pledge is to: Everyone deserves to be respected for who they are. I pledge to spread this message to my friends, family and neighbors. I'll speak up against hate and intolerance whenever I see it, at school and at work. I'll provide hope for lesbian, gay, bi, trans and other bullied teens by letting them know that "It Gets Better."  


Many celebrities have contributed videos and written accounts in support for and struggles with bullying to show solidarity and lead by example.  Some celebrities have addressed the issue from another angle, challenging the kids who egg the bullies--in the hope of not being bullied themselves--to stand up for the kids being bullied.  


I've been discussing this issue a great deal lately, with high school students, colleagues, and friends.  Inevitably, the question comes up: "Were you ever bullied?"  Most say no, they weren't.  Some were too quiet to be noticed, some say they were the bullies, trying to hide their own insecurity by picking on people around them.  But me, well, yes.  I was bullied a lot, and not in a 'maybe she's just a little too sensitive sort of a way.'  Nope.  Honest to goodness, mean spirited, kids bent on making me feel bad kind of bullied.


I remember being chased on the playground and called fat by the boys in my second grade class, and the group of boys that jumped as though I'd made the earth move during a particularly bouncy cheerleading routine (a stint that was short-lived for so many reasons), or the time I ran for student council president.  When I walked to the podium to introduce myself, I was booed by an auditorium packed with every one of the two hundred and fifty students in my seventh grade class.  They all booed.  The couple of girls I called friends did nothing, no clapping, no booing, just...nothing. 


I've asked myself for years what made me a target.  I wasn't the heaviest, I wasn't the meanest, the quietest, the most anything...except for confident.  My parents instilled in me the belief that I was no better than anyone else, and that no one was better than me.  I never, for one second, felt inferior.  Never doubted my right to speak, to listen, to learn, to be heard.  Even when those things happened to me, they were painful in the moment, but I kept getting up in the morning, kept going to school, kept reading, kept breathing, kept wanting to learn.  I asked questions, I raised my hand, I talked to adults, I believed they were listening to me, I believed I was worth listening to.  My greatest crime was really liking myself.  And, well, I was mouthy, a trait that worked out well for me as an acerbic adult but made me no friends in the average American junior high school.  When kids were mean to me, I snapped back at them with a larger vocabulary larger and quicker wit than many of them ever cultivated in adulthood let alone at age nine.


I got lucky.  When I entered ninth grade, it was in a new town at a new high school.  All those terrible experiences from my past ceased to exist as soon as I left my sleepy hometown.  I'd love to say I never had another bad moment, but life doesn't work that way and there were a few rough spots, but I learned how to adapt, how to stand up for myself, and how to make it clear that I wasn't someone to be pushed around.


So, why write all of this now, here?  Well, I've been thinking a lot about why those things happened to me, and the best reason I can come up with is so that I can be this person, now, telling kids that in fact, it does get better.  The people who tear you down for being strong are the ones most likely to never know real strength.  Every cowardly insult about your clothes, your weight, your voice, your sexual orientation, your haircut, whatever thing they pick on, it's all in an attempt to mask their fear of you.  Of your strength, of your power, of your brilliance and beauty.  


You are valuable.  You are important.  You are beautiful, and you are the ones that make the world better, smarter, more compassionate, and worth living in.  


I promise.