Three months after finishing Taramul Viselor , a new book is underway! A complex story with a group of teenagers at its core, bullying plays a central role in the plot. As I was working out the first draft of a simple outline, I thought back to the two different times in my teenage years where bullying affected me, and my heart ached for all the ways bullying destroys time… and emotions. My passion is in speaking up, working to raise a new normal, one where speaking up and sharing our stories replaces a legacy of shame and secrecy. As part of the research for the story, I’d love to listen to real stories, to your stories, of bullying. What happened? When did it happen? How did you feel about it, both at the time and looking back on it? I’m genuinely interested in hearing what happened to you.

If you’d like to share your story with me — either from a time when you were bullied, or maybe a time when you bullied someone else — please feel free to e-mail me directly at tiffini@tiffinijohnson.com — or you can also share through the comments.

For me, I was fortunate in that I was only actively bullied during one year of school: my ninth grade. During this year, I attended a private school and there were three girls, the ringleader’s name was Rachel, who singled me out. We shared Journalism class. Our teacher catered to the Seniors and we were often left in the classroom unattended. Rachel and her friends routinely used this time to demean me: they stole, crumbled up and threw away pages of the stories I was writing, they laughed about my weight, they poured catsup on a sanitary pad, stuck it to the classroom television and told the teacher I did it and they pulled a heartbreaking stunt where they wrote a note, stuck it in my bookbag that pretended to be from a boy they somehow figured out I liked. The note asked me to meet him somewhere. I didn’t go because I knew it wasn’t real, but it hurt nonetheless. These girls kept their campaign against me up all year long, and I never forgot it. They couldn’t have known, but their relentless assault on my self-esteem reinforced the message of abuse I learned from my dad and made the idea of telling that much harder. It also alienated me from others at school, keeping me isolated so that I wouldn’t have anyone to trust. And they reinforced the idea that I didn’t belong at the exclusive school, that I wasn’t good enough. I asked my mother to pick me up early from school more than once in an effort to avoid going to that class, and routinely went home in tears. My mother offered to tell the principal I was switching to a different class, but I refused. It was a small school, and I would still see them in PE, and I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of transferring out of a class I otherwise enjoyed. Looking back, I am proud of myself for staying the course and not letting them run me out of Journalism, but I ache for the pain I went through.

I am a firm believer that few bullies wake up one day suddenly and think, how awful can I be to this person today. Instead, I think bullies are using cruelty as a coping mechanism. In this story, the consequences of bullying are tragic and devastating, but the last hour twist reveals that it wasn’t as black and white as it first seems.

Once again, I would love to hear more about your stories of bullying. Sharing makes us stronger and bringing into light that which haunts us hinders its ability to further hurt us.

If you’d like to share your story with me — either from a time when you were bullied, or maybe a time when you bullied someone else — please feel free to e-mail me directly at tiffini@tiffinijohnson.com — or you can also share through the comments.