I am finally learning to leave “the playground” when a particular kind of bully shows up: the kind who is miserable about how life has turned out; who is blaming others for their unhappiness, who (therefore) never sees the need to get help. No one else on the playground succumbs to this liar except for me. Me? I cower and get pushed, face-down, into wet mud.
It happens every time. It’s pathetic (and amazing!) how easily I believe the bully’s yelling that I am to blame and I’m not a nice person. It’s always a facsimile of the bully with whom I grew up: a mother who got trapped in obesity when she was pregnant with me. Afterwards, my parents were always unhappy and arguing, which (I came to believe) was my fault.
Now, 71 years later, I have finally seen God pointing out my need to WHOMP this bullying liar. Then, no sooner seen, I got the chance to practice. On prior playgrounds, it has taken just a wisp of whisper to activate my tape recorder to play back if should I ever deign to draw a boundary. It was frowned upon. Stewardship of this “earthsuit” I inhabit was considered selfish and heartless.
But God had, evidently, decided it was time to open my gate so that Blaming Bully could re-enter. And this time, God made it so hilariously plain that “the next best thing” for me to do was blatantly obvious.
Once that bully slunk in and started bellowing, gratitude was hard for me to find. But I found it, because I connected the dots and recognized the opportunity to practice. I now knew (at last) what the bully sounds like and is.
This was necessary learning, and I am grateful — in fact, I am looking forward more practice. Chime in if you care to share. FYI, this image was posted on Facebook by Gloria Bilodeau. Thanks, Gloria!