Hero or Zero?

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If there are no heroes to save you, then you be the hero” – Denpa Kyoshi

I was bullied as a child. Were you? I also bullied other kids. I bet you didn’t, you’re too nice. But I did. It came naturally to me. They were not my best moments. I have tried to do my Ninth step amends as much as possible around the incidents I remember. Still, I know from my own experience, there is no way to erase the scars created by the meanness that was me as a child.

But I was a child. And stupid. Apparently, compassion doesn’t form in the human brain until we hit 25 (or much later if you’re a male or addict. Never, if you’re both.)  Children don’t know better. I was bullied at home so I bullied others. It’s always about fear and feeling “less than.” It’s never out of strength. Historians paint Hitler as a failed everything –except he was a great bully who had the unique talent of drawing other bullies to his side and giving them free reign to do their worst. 

As children what were our choices? Take it or snitch. No kid wants to be the “snitch”. That’s like painting a big red target on your face for the rest of your life. Still, sometimes it gets so bad someone does notice and intervene. When I was a kid I had a great third grade teacher who noticed I never went out at recess. I was a very athletic tomboy and it wasn’t like me not to rush to the tetherball court when the recess bell rang. She knew something was up. She took it to the Principal. Unfortunately, bullying wasn’t taken as seriously then as it is now. It’s just kids being kids. I was told to toughen up, Stop being so sensitive,  or the worst one Stop making trouble. ‘Cause that’s me, trouble-maker. Shit, I was so needy for love and approval I never wanted to cause trouble. Of course, I also have red hair, so there’s that. (And you may remember the slapping episode with Mrs. Adamske.)

No one did a thing and I, in turn, bullied a schoolmate in middle school. I probably bullied more than her, but she is the one I still feel guilty about. She was my friend and I reduced her to tears with a bunch of other girls. She didn’t deserve that. I was a jerk, pure and simple. 

Bullying that girl hurt her, no doubt. But it also hurt me and everyone who was around to watch it. They call it “vicarious abuse.” 

I learned early on not to engage my mother when she was on the warpath. I asked for a lock on my door at nine. I was all about the self-protection.

I didn’t get the lock. I got laughed at for wanting it. I would huddle in my bedroom, most of the time trying to cram myself behind the farthest piece of furniture as I listened to whatever mayhem was happening outside my door. I remember saying a little mantra as the fights swirled, “please don’t come in here, please don’t come in here.” When I wasn’t on the receiving end of the abuse (physical from my Mom and emotional from my Dad), I was a victim of  vicarious abuse.

 I went to a Naturopath last year and he listened to my family history and told me he believes my “fight or flight” instinct is on red alert at all times. I sleep with one eye open. I wait for the next shoe to drop. I’ve always got my bags packed and my walking shoes on. It’s a wonderful life.

Over the years I’ve had two opportunities to fight back against abuse. Both times I didn’t fight, I did the flight. One was a sexual abuse case and another included physical threats. I was furious the people I trusted did not protect me from the threats but I tucked my tail between my legs, convinced I would get hurt even worse if I fought, and fled. I suffered long after for their actions and my lack of action.

I bring this up today because, as is the case here on Earth School, Mimi has given me a new opportunity to fight or flee. I’m trying to decide. Can you help me?

I have this awesome job. It pays really well and I am really good at it. It’s only part time so I can write and dream and work on my Life Coaching. I moved to Wilsonville so I could be close to work.

As in any fairy tale there is always a wicked witch. In my case it is a bully boss. 

I have tried over the last 11 months to deal with this man’s horrid abuse of me and all the other employees who work for him. He yells, he pounds on the furniture, he humiliates people in front of others, he screams over your phone calls telling you what you should be saying. Bully, Bully, BULLY!!!

So I finally took umbrage when he accused me of fabricating a phone call and wrote a letter to my big boss. I had spoken with the bully boss and his boss numerous times trying to stop the abuse of myself and others. He’d be fine for a few days and then the moon would turn full or he’d get severe PMS and off he’d go again. 

The Big Boss sent my letter to Human Resources and at her counsel I resigned. She told me they have had three complaints in one year (all from women) and 150% turn-over in my department. Everyone knows this guy is a terror but they would rather let good people go (I’m good –won the bonus just last week, looks like this week too) than fix this shit. I AM PISSED!

Why should I have to give up a job I like, with people I like, a job I’m good at? Why should I, at 60, have to be pounding the pavement again and explaining why I left my last job after 11 months? It isn’t fair. (Imagine stamping and screaming.)

So. Am I my own hero or my same zero? To sue or not to sue, that is the question. Whether it is nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous bully-bosses or by suing end them. To sue, to sue, perhaps to lose, aye there’s the rub. A dub-dub.

I’ve been raking my motives over the coals. Why do I want to sue? Justice? Check. Self-righteousness? Check. Money? Double-check?

What keeps coming up is the desire to learn this frickin’ lesson once and for all and step up to the plate. I want to be the HERO in my life. Finally. I want to shout at the top of my judicial lungs, 

“I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.”

Does that make me a bitch?