The Impact of School Bullying, 40 Years On

I cannot remember much about my time at school. This is partly because I am in my fifties and struggle to remember very much at all these days, but also because it was a generally miserable time for me. Who wants to remember all the details of when you were deeply unhappy?

However, I do not need to remember the details. I still vividly remember how I felt, and that impacts me every day. Almost every day that I was at school, I was bullied. I was bullied for being different, for being academic, for not being athletic, for wearing glasses, for being the new kid (we moved a lot when I was growing up), or just for being me.

I cannot look back fondly at my time at school, though I am sure there were some happy times. My memories of school are all about not fitting in, not having friends, and being picked on constantly.

My life has got better, much better. But the bullying will never leave me. Nor will the intransigence of most of the teachers who knew full well what was happening and did little or nothing about it. My parents became regular fixtures at the school, and still, there was no more than a token effort made to change anything. I was told I needed to try and make friends, join in, and be one of the group. So I tried, and I was abused and taken advantage of when I tried to become one of the crowd.

I was always different. I know now that it is because I am neurodivergent, but that was not invented in the seventies and eighties. I was just a weirdo who was good at maths but pulled strange faces, acted oddly, and made constant social gaffes. I was happiest on my own with a book, but that was not allowed, at least not all the time.

Just as in today's workplace, the pressure to interact, socialise, and collaborate is constant. The loner who wanted to quietly get on with their work was not accepted, and being bullied for not conforming was the expected outcome.

I am sure that part of the social anxiety that I still have today is from my school days. I soon learned that I would not be accepted and could expect to be, at best, ignored and, more likely, abused. This went on for around 13 years. That does not leave you, ever.

At university, things were a little better. I thought I got on with those who lived in the rooms near mine until it was time to form housing groups in the second year. Suddenly, I was the one left out. I could not believe that it was happening again. The people I thought were my friends were humouring me and did not want anything to do with me when they did not have to live next door to me.

I have also been bullied at work. By then, I was so used to it that I thought I deserved it. I was clearly doing something wrong; I was odd, choosing to be different, and I deserved what I got.

I know now that I did nothing wrong. I made far more effort to get along with the others than they ever did to include me. I cannot bear to see anyone left out in a group setting (unless they want to be, which I fully respect). I champion the loner, the excluded, the people who are constantly knocked back or passed over. You cannot know how this feels until you have been there yourself.

Not a day goes by when I do not think of some form of bullying I have been subjected to, be it at school, at work, or by an abusive partner. That trauma does not leave you. I have moved on, and I try not to let it define me, but it still hurts, and I think it always will.

Bullying is evil. It is weak, cowardly, and abusive. Those who practice it should have everything possible done to stop them. Education and awareness are not nearly enough – intervention is needed to stop this behaviour at its source, whether at school, at work, or anywhere else.

I am sure that all of those who bullied me have forgotten about it and probably about me. I still remember. It still haunts me. It always will. I will never stand by and let others be bullied. Please do the same if you can.

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