Showing posts with label bullying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bullying. Show all posts

October 17, 2020

Press The Stop Button On Bullying by Lynn Dove


Talk about intimidation!  

She yelled her insults at me from across the room.  I tried to ignore her, but her taunting continued.  She was calling me names in front of my peers and challenging me to fight her after school.  Her unrelenting, persistent bullying of me throughout the year had finally culminated into this tirade during a study period.  The teacher had left the classroom, so spurred on by her "pack" of she-wolves' who laughed at my embarrassment and discomfort, she called me names laced with the most vile expletives that made me cringe.  

"Don't let her bug you!"  My friend, who sat behind me, tapped me on the back and whispered.  

"It's kind of hard," I whispered back.  

I remembered all the times she had bumped into me in the hallway.  Whenever she found me by myself and vulnerable, she hip-checked me with all the gusto of a hockey defenseman into the lockers, and then glared at me and bellowed, "Watch where you're going, b****!"  I found expletives scrawled about me in the girl's change room.  I was the subject of malicious gossip.  I was tripped, books knocked from my hand, and as she and her friends played keep-away with my pencil case, her laughter rang in my ears.  

I don't know how or when I had first offended her, or why she wanted to punish and torment me, but she hated me, that was obvious, and she took devilish delight in hurting me physically and emotionally every chance she could.  We followed a strict code at my school.  I couldn't "tell" on her, that would only label me as a snitch and she threatened more punishment as a result. So, I felt trapped and wounded in a school environment that could not seem to protect me.  I discovered the best offense was a really good defense, so I avoided her as much as possible.  There was safety in numbers, so I surrounded myself with a few choice friends that were not as intimidated by her as I was.  Still, there was palpable tension whenever we passed one another that finally built up to this final altercation in the classroom.

I stood up and faced her and agreed to meet her after school.  She punched her right hand into her left palm and menacingly grinned at me, "You're dead meat, Princess!"

"Are you insane?"  My friend behind me said.  "She's going to pound you up!"

I shuddered, but thought to myself, "If I die, I die."

It was anti-climatic when I showed up at the designation of our "rumble" to find myself alone.  I waited for a half an hour and she never showed.  Word got around the school that I had been prepared to fight her, but she "jammed out".  I didn't feel like I had won any great victory.  In fact, I was more nervous than ever to be alone in case she decided to ambush me.

A few days before graduation, my english teacher asked to speak to me after school.  English was my favourite subject and I had just turned in my final writing assignment.  On her desk were two papers.  She asked me to read the one that had been written by my nemesis.  I only read a few sentences to realize she had somehow plagiarized my paper.

"This is very serious," Mrs. Lidster said.  "I have two papers in front of me that are virtually identical.  I'm not quite sure what to do about this.  There is no time to submit another paper for a grade.  I have to have my final marks in this afternoon."  I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up her hand and shook her head.  "I know what you've been going through, Lynn," she said.  "I've seen how you've put up with her all year long.  I wish you'd have talked to me, but you have a chance now to enact a little revenge.  You're a straight A student in my class.  I don't know how she managed to get a hold of your paper to copy it, but I'll find out.  The thing is, she needed this paper to pass my class.  She must have been pretty desperate to steal your paper knowing she needed a good one for a passing grade.  Without a paper she will not graduate.  I just wanted you to know."

I stared at the paper in my hand.  Her name was on the paper, but the words were mine.  I remember the hours I had spent writing it.  It felt good that I hadn't needed to defend myself to my teacher.  She knew my innocence before she had even called me in to see her.  That was a great relief.  On the other hand, I now held in my hands the evidence I could use against my Bully.  If I accused her of copying my paper, she would not graduate.  It was a small town.  Our graduating class was small.  The ramifications of not graduating with her peers, despite all she had put me through, did not fill me with glee, but great trepidation.  I surprised myself when I suddenly blurted out, "Is there a way you can pass her anyway?"

Mrs. Lidster sat back in her chair and folded her hands in front of her on her desk.  "Are you asking me to show grace to her?"  I was not a Christian in high school and had no Biblical understanding of the word "grace", but I nodded.  "I am meeting with her in a few minutes.  I make no promises, but the fact you're the injured party in all of this and you want her to graduate anyway,...well...I plan on letting her know who she should be thanking for this."

The girl who had tormented me through high school sat a few seats down from me at graduation.  She did not speak to me, nor acknowledge what had transpired between her or Mrs. Lidster.  However, I think we both knew she was there because of me.  I had somehow defeated my bully with an act of kindness.  I think it surprised both of us.  

When I became a teacher, one of my goals was to be an anti-bullying advocate.  I not only tried to recognize the signs of victimization, and take action to prevent further abuse, but also learn what goes on in the hearts and minds of those students who choose to bully others.  I discovered quickly that "Hurt people hurt people."  

Our family went through a very dark time when my daughter in Junior High was placed on suicide watch because she had been bullied to such an extent she had convinced herself that ending her life was the only way to cope with the abuse.  Thankfully, before my daughter took action, she confided in another adult she trusted, her piano teacher, who in turn took the appropriate action to inform me of my daughter's dire situation.  A guilt haunts me to this day that I had trained myself to recognize the signs of victimization in other students, but I had completely missed seeing it in my own child!  It spurred me on to be even more involved in several anti-bullying forums that equip teachers, parents, and students with resources and action plans to stop bullying in schools.  When I wrote my "Wounded Trilogy" books, I was very purposeful in having bullying as a major theme.  Directed to a young adult reading audience, my books have been recommended as resources by websites such as www.bullying.org here in Canada. 

There are so many causes, social injustices etc., that I could rally behind, but for me, to see bullying in all its forms eradicated from all the hallways, school playgrounds, and social media, motivates me to take action like nothing else. 



Lynn Dove is the award-winning author, of the YA “
Wounded Trilogy”- a contemporary Christian fiction series with coming-of-age themes.  A wife, mom, grandmother, and free-lance writer with articles published in several magazines and anthologies including Chicken Soup for the Soul books, her blog, “Journey Thoughts” is a Canadian Christian Writing Award winner.  Readers may connect with her at lynndove.com 




 














June 17, 2020

The Themes They Are A-Changin' by Lynn Dove

It started during the night as a tightening, then a squeezing pain in my right calf.  I knew right away I had another blood clot, a DVT.  I hobbled down the stairs and broke the news to my husband that he'd better take me to the emergency room. 

He groaned, "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," I winced while struggling to put on my shoes. 

Having a family history of DVT's, cancer, and diagnosed with another clotting disorder, the odds were in my favour to get blood clots at some time in my life, and sure enough, I have experienced deep vein thrombosis three times before this one.  As we drove in silence to the hospital, I could feel the anxiety well up in me.  Times had changed in our world.  We were still in the middle of a pandemic, and I wondered what new protocols might be in place to address my current situation and also to keep me safe from contracting the virus.  I wore a mask, as has been my new normal while I've been out and about the last several weeks, but I was given a new one the instant I walked into the emergency department.  The nurses were in full PPE (personal protective equipment), but their eyes seemed friendly enough.  Both my husband and I were told to sanitize our hands, and wait, keeping socially distant from anyone else in the waiting room.  At least the waiting part was very familiar to us.  It was a full day spent at the hospital, waiting on medical tests to confirm what I already knew, I had a DVT in my right leg.  I was sent home with my prescription for blood thinner pills and a new referral to the Thrombosis Clinic. 

All last year, I had documented my battle with endometrial cancer on my blog, Journey Thoughts.  I certainly had not intended at the start of 2019, that the theme of my writing for most of that year, would be focused on my personal journey with cancer, but life events have a way of determining what I write about.  When my kids were teenagers, I wrote about bullying, based on what they were experiencing at school.  When I was teaching, I wrote about my classroom experiences.  As a grandmother now, I write about my growing family.  My personal walk of faith with God has always been a part of my writing, interwoven throughout like a reoccurring colourful thread.  As life has its ebb and flow, or in my case giant U-turns, my writing gives account to all the highs and lows of daily living and walking with God through it all.

It is no wonder that the last several months, my writing has documented some of the challenges I've faced living through a global pandemic.  Three months ago I never used the terms, social distancing, cohort family, or global pandemic.  I never wore a mask, nor imagined a time when people would be forced to stand two metres apart, or unable to hug loved ones, or discover no toilet paper on grocery store shelves.  I thought I faced a "new normal" after my battle with cancer?  I'm still trying to figure out how to follow arrows in supermarkets to ensure we can pick up milk in a safe and orderly manner!

In the last two weeks, I have seen demonstrations held world-wide, to bring awareness to the systemic racism that pervades our society.  It has sensitized me on how I can write in such a way that shows my empathy without offending anyone.  It hasn't been easy.  I want to stay relevant in my writing, but admittedly, there are just some themes and topics I am uncomfortable in tackling.  So I pray instead, and hope my Saviour groans and intercedes on my behalf, hearing my heart when words fail me.

I've spent the past week with my leg elevated, waiting for the blood thinners to cut in.  Only today have I been able to sit at length in front of my computer to blog.  As I reflect on all the events that have occurred world wide, as well as process my own personal experiences over these past few years, I know my writing is in perpetual metamorphosis.  What I write about today, will not be what I write about a year from now,... maybe not even a week from now.  I'm okay with that.  I do pray I will be writing less and less about my ongoing medical issues, because it's a pain.  Literally.  All I can say with great certainty going forward is, "The Themes They are A-Changin'".

  
Lynn Dove is the award-winning author, of the YA “Wounded Trilogy”- a contemporary Christian fiction series with coming-of-age themes.  A wife, mom, grandmother, and free-lance writer with articles published in several magazines and anthologies including Chicken Soup for the Soul books, her blog, “Journey Thoughts” is a Canadian Christian Writing Award winner.  Readers may connect with her on FacebookTwitter, and at lynndove.com   



October 16, 2018

The Heart of the Story by Nina Faye Morey




Many of my stories are based on events in my life. My stories aren’t driven by these experiences, but by the emotions they elicit. Writing about these memories from the heart means my feelings will form the heart of the story. If I can tap into these emotions, then my tales will touch my readers. They may not have experienced a similar event, but I know they will have experienced the same emotions.

My readers want to be immersed in my fictional world. They want to identify with my protagonist—or perhaps, they favour the antagonist. Therefore, I need to create characters my readers can become emotionally invested in. Then what touches my characters’ hearts will also move the hearts of my readers. They will see the world through her eyes; feel what she feels. For instance, they may never have experienced skydiving, but they want to feel the adrenaline rush, the emotional high, the heart-pounding fear my character feels as she steps out of the plane into the void of space, putting her faith in a skimpy piece of nylon.


Whether my readers will be drawn into and emotionally satisfied by this scene depends solely on my skill as a writer. You see, I’ve never actually parachuted from a plane, but that needn’t stop me from creating a spellbinding scene. Remember, it’s not the events but the feelings that are at the heart of the story. So to make it believable, I’ll need to mine memorable events in my life for those strong feelings of excitement, fear, and faith. I can’t be afraid to relive and reveal my personal memories and heartfelt emotions. They’re vital to my success as a writer.


Therefore, I’m pleased to share “the story behind the story” of “Isabella’s Green Shamrock Sweater” (Canadian Messenger, March 2010, pp. 24-5). The inspiration for this story was my memory of being bullied by classmates for wearing green to school the Friday before St. Patrick’s Day. Managing to free my heart from the pain of hurt feelings through forgiveness is what forms the heart of the story. Here is an excerpt:

“Why are you wearing that sweater with green shamrocks?” Jenna demanded to know in a haughty tone as she came up behind Isabella.


“My grandmother knit this sweater for me to wear on St. Patrick’s Day,” Isabella replied proudly.

“Today isn’t St. Patrick’s Day, stupid!” Robin sneered.

“Yeah, St. Patrick’s Day isn’t until Saturday,” Jenna added with her usual air of superiority.

“And you’re not Irish, anyway! So why are you even celebrating St. Patrick’s Day?” Robin taunted Isabella as she shoved her into a corner of the cloakroom. Isabella recovered her balance just in time to feel Jenna shove her from the other side.

A crowd of students began to gather around the threesome. Isabella felt her face flush and tears welled up in her eyes as she turned to see that some were merely staring, while several others were laughing at her.


When Miss Fran, Isabella’s history teacher, learns of her classmates’ bullying, she uses it as an opportunity to teach her class the story of St. Patrick. They learn how he was captured by Irish marauders as a teenager and sold into slavery. Relying on prayer and a vision from the Holy Spirit, he escapes after six years. He eventually forgives his captors for the hardship and hurt they caused him and returns to Ireland as a Christian missionary and bishop. Miss Fran urges her class to honour him on St. Patrick’s Day by following his example of forgiveness.

Unfortunately, it’s the traumatic events in our lives that form our most indelible memories and trigger our most intense emotions. That’s the reason I chose this childhood incident of bullying as “the story behind the story.” 




Photo Credits: Pixabay



October 01, 2015

Give Thanks in Everything as We Write – by Sandi Somers

“There’ll be times when you wonder how you can possibly thank (God) for something that turns your life upside-down…Let us, then, at times like these, give thanks on faith alone…obedient, trusting, hoping, believing.” So wrote the author Jan Karon.[i]

Prompt: Share an experience in your writing life when you found that to give thanks was especially difficult—but yet you did give thanks. How did you find your way to victory? What did God teach you through this experience?

Transforming Adverse Situations


A number of years ago while taking a course on memoir writing, I tried writing an article about my elementary school years. At first all I could remember was being bullied and ostracized. I was even misunderstood by my teacher.

Writing that article took a lot of time and I wasn’t getting anywhere. I felt as though all my writing energy was being sucked into a black hole—a soul hole. The article had no neat and tidy resolution of someone coming to my rescue or helping me through it. Even God didn’t seem to comfort me (2 Corinthians 1:3b-4), because at that young age, I hadn’t learned how to talk to Him in my troubles.

 I set the article aside and turned my attention to other writing.

However, that unresolved story stayed in my mind, needling me like a pebble in my shoe. I wanted to understand why God had allowed my suffering. Perhaps like Job, I would never know. I just had to trust that He had a reason. Would that be enough for me?

I began journaling my questions, reflections and scriptures.

And all the while God reminded me, “In everything give thanks.”

  

Now thanking God in everything has been one of my life principles. God causes all things to work for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). Thanking God clears the clutter of my mind and spirit from frustration, anxiety or disappointment. Then in quiet moments He can freely give me His word and. encouragement

Thanking God opens the door to a more creative attitude.

And thanking God turns my eyes from my viewpoint to what God has to say to me.

God reminded me that I had to work through layers of forgiveness—forgiving those who had hurt me and forgiving myself. As I forgave, God gradually healed me (and is still healing me) of the injuries from what I had missed out on friendships and in my education.

Some time later, I attended a women’s retreat. As the speaker shared her childhood story of abuse, she said, “God wouldn’t have given us those life experiences unless He wanted to use them for His glory.”  

Yes! This was the insight I had been seeking. God wants to touch someone’s life through those experiences.

But God had a further answer for me. I awoke one night with an overwhelming sense of God’s presence. He was filling me with gratitude for those childhood traumas and transforming them into things of beauty.

I may never delve into the details of that story. But the details don’t matter now.  What is more important is that as I surrender my issues to God and thank Him—even where I have been mistreated—He will accomplish His purposes both in my life and in ministry to others.

Challenge:
Now it’s time for your blog.  To develop your thoughts, follow this link to a short sermon on the Apostle Paul’s secrets for giving thanks.



[i] Jan Karon. In This Mountain.” New York: Viking. 2002. p 312.