036. ...a toy plastic soldier; the shit one.

(evening thinking)

Photo by Kat J on Unsplash

Gus didn't want to go to Judo this evening, he's tired and grumpy and just got over a wee cold. Nevertheless, he is able and judo is the only extracurricular activity that is non negotiable.

This morning as I came back from putting out the bins, I saw a neighbour's kid leave for school, her eyes still glistening and face red from crying. I know her family, I know it's nothing at all to worry about. Those are most likely the frustrated tears of a sibling argument. She'll be ok and he'll get less annoying as they get older.

I said good morning as we passed on the pavement. She glanced and glanced quickly away, embarrassed I think. I get that. I didn't think for a second anything I might say would make her feel any better. At least I could be a note of friendliness as she stepped out into the rest of her day.

She rubbed her red eyes with the red cuffs off her school jumper and I thought "amateur". Gentle and with the sad, knowing smile of understanding. I wouldn't mock an upset 10 year old, even in my head! My mind went straight to - "you want, at most, a soft dab with a fabric like that". Red eyes get redder when rubbed quickly. Friction isn't your friend. A tissue folded and run under the cold tap, laid softly over the eyes would be best. But she doesn't have time for anything else, her friends will be on the path round the corner.

I'm remembering, I would alternate between deep breaths with my head out the bathroom window and submerging my face in a sink run deep with cold water until my lungs hurt. We had a roof window in the bathroom and I'd stand on the bidet (yup) with my head and shoulders out above the roofline looking like a toy plastic soldier; the shit one with binoculars and no gun drawn, useless in a fight. It's quite an appropriate simile. My hands would frame my face, pulling my hairline back as though to stretch as much puffed skin as possible in the fresh morning air. Water, air, water air, breeze, breathe.

I'd gel and style my hair, get my tie just right in the hope that their neatness might distract from whatever signs of my weakness remained around my eyes. My hair was a rigid neat quiff lacquered into place with hairspray over the gel. The styling had a lot to compensate for and gave my face more time, behind the locked bathroom door, to calm down. I'd need a minimum level of puff and red before I could go downstairs and quickly out the door to walk to the school bus.

And it's only now, thinking back and realising how much I'd perfected hiding the evidence of crying that it occurs to me to question these memories.

Why was I crying? Why did it happen often enough that I got good at clearing up the mess afterwards? At first I don't remember.

I don't recall questioning this before but I don't think I've suppressed anything sinister or unaccounted for. The memory landed, when I saw my neighbour's kid, "oh yeah, going to school red faced after crying; that's such a kid thing". These were just tears of dread and fear, that's all. It occurs to me now that maybe it wasn't all that 'normal'.

When did this happen? A tie could be primary school or highschool but the quiff is a giveaway that suggests the tears belong to high school bullying. The anticipation oand dread ahead of another day of fear.

I remember starting work at one of the big insurance companies in Edinburgh in my twenties and being surprised, on my first lunch hour, by the huge anxiety I felt carrying a tray in an adult version of a dining hall. A clue.

At school I'd walk to my seat with lunch held in front of me aware of the stares and menace. As though they could will me to bump someone, trip or fall. I always felt a moment away from the focus of the raucous laughter of the hall.

I was scared of the bus to school and scared of the hallways and break time and lunch time for the first four years of high school.

But you do your best because it's what everyone's doing right?

It's definitely not healthy to be scared for that long. The experience I had at school was traumatic, albeit with a small t and I'm only now processing that experience. Some of this is ugly.

I'm not suggesting the whole experience was horrible. I had friends at high school, teachers and classes I liked; there were definitely good times. I was never beaten in school or outside the gates, it was always threat and intimidation. I was luckier than some. I ran or I hid and in doing so avoided the worst of it. Maybe.

With retrospect I wish I'd learnt to fight. I graduated that period of my life with a sense of self tied up in the idea of being a coward. The bruises would have healed much quicker.

Learning to fight as an adult has been emancipating. I'm not about to step into the ring and compete but I've taken various classes and sparred a little. I train weekly with Rencounter Krav Maga. This afternoon I came home covered in mud after an hour of grappling on the ground and breaking out of chokes.

Self sovereignty, being in control of one's life and living a purposeful, authentic life is emancipating. I feel freed from self doubt. My inner critic has been told to pipe down. Knowing that I act daily in accordance with beliefs and values I have explored and quantified gives me a sense of calm when the world around me gets complicated.

In part this comes from wisdom, learning and just being alive for a while. I understand, ethically and morally where my beliefs are rooted. I can discuss, explore and if needed defend my stance with reasoned discussion. And I'm prepared to be wrong because I recognise that no one really grows through success. But there's a further level of assurance that comes with knowing I have some ability to defend my position physically. Not all external threats are intellectual. I now know how to throw and take a punch and there's comfort in that too.

My childhood was privileged and comfortable (we had a bidet!) and for the most part safe but being scared is exhausting. I wish that kid with the red eyes and ineffective self defense hair had known how to fight.

My son will no doubt encounter bullying but I believe he'll be in a better position than I was to stand up for himself.

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Overshare? TMI? Who knows. It feels cathartic and to some extent that's probably what I'm here for. I appreciate your support while I explore this stuff. Click like, maybe even subscribe and keep a watch on this. I can use your perspective.

Thanks for reading.