But then I told her that a boy punched me in the neck in the 1st grade. My hyoid dislocates on occasion.
"Why would he do that?" Her eyes were wide.
Because he wanted to go down the slide, and I was in the way. I didn't know him. He was much older.
"A bully!" she said.
Yes, a bully. I woke Sunday morning sensing a deep psychologic and symbolic connection between my injury as a child and the injured DNA in my thyroid.
What the bully couldn't have known was that I loved that slide. It was a place of innocence and joy. It was a place where girls shared secrets under its shade. It was supposed to be safe. The space of the slide was creating an emotional connection in my life's moment, right when he punched me so hard I lost my ability to breathe.
What he couldn't have known was that he was the first of at least six more violent physical assaults on my freedom to be me in what I thought was a safe space. He did probably know, just like the other six, that punching a little girl is an attempt to take away her power.
I went downtown, to my Sunday dance ritual. During the intro, Laura, the leader, asked us to place our hands on our solar plexus and breathe with intention. The solar plexus are considered a source of power, she explained. Then she asked the group, "have you ever been punched?"
"WHAT?" I asked.
"Have any of you ever been punched?"
I raised my hand.
She invited us into our own power as we dance with intention, and to lose ourselves in the dance with intention.
Breathing, stepping, in a safe place with innocence, joy, and secrets in the shade, the dance began.
"Why would he do that?" Her eyes were wide.
Because he wanted to go down the slide, and I was in the way. I didn't know him. He was much older.
"A bully!" she said.
Yes, a bully. I woke Sunday morning sensing a deep psychologic and symbolic connection between my injury as a child and the injured DNA in my thyroid.
What the bully couldn't have known was that I loved that slide. It was a place of innocence and joy. It was a place where girls shared secrets under its shade. It was supposed to be safe. The space of the slide was creating an emotional connection in my life's moment, right when he punched me so hard I lost my ability to breathe.
What he couldn't have known was that he was the first of at least six more violent physical assaults on my freedom to be me in what I thought was a safe space. He did probably know, just like the other six, that punching a little girl is an attempt to take away her power.
"WHAT?" I asked.
"Have any of you ever been punched?"
I raised my hand.
She invited us into our own power as we dance with intention, and to lose ourselves in the dance with intention. Breathing, stepping, in a safe place with innocence, joy, and secrets in the shade, the dance began.
Powerful connections. Thanks for sharing...inspires me to reflect a lot more on some of my own childhood being-bullied experiences and how they might reflect in my present.
ReplyDeleteIt is a worthwhile endeavor, Natalya. We are grown up children.
DeleteAngie,
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your experience and revelations. Playground bullies seem to have been a common thread in our lives and perhaps so for many of us. Since I retired I have written a series of short stories. My first is entitled "Playground Bullies, 1951" The characters and the events are loosely based upon my own memories of entering a rough and tumble little country school in mid coastal CT. If you are interested I can send you a PDF of the story. Both the bullies and the victims are represented by both genders. (By the way I loved one of your earlier essays about when and how to offer advice)
I went back and read that blog about offering advice, and it seemed pretty solid. Thanks for the flashback!
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