Editor's Note: I am honored to feature this guest post from friend and fellow barre teacher, Robin Marino. Robin was there to support me and as I shared my story at a recent event for the Jeanne Geiger Crisis Center, which prompted her to share this piece about her own history of abuse in the form of childhood bullying . -Andrea
I am sitting in the audience, listening to someone I find truly inspiring talk about her history with abuse. When she says that abuse chooses no one "type", I believe her. I believe that this is true. Except for me. My name is Robin Marino, and I was bullied. A lot. And for many years. Although I have long forgiven the people who bullied me, the effect it has had on me - the way that it has informed my life - is monumental. The fact that I could sit on that floor and still think about all the things I should have said, done, or been - makes me sad, At age 41, there is a large part of me that feels like the bullying was my fault. I was weak, I was weird, I was annoying, I was emotional. If I *hadn't* been any of those things, I never would have been targeted. It's amazing the things we can believe about ourselves. If someone else said that to me, I would be the first to say "that's crazy!". Sometimes even a Women's Studies degree can't save you from yourself until you really let yourself see the bigger picture.
I was always a little different. Growing up in a day when not many people talked about sensory processing disorder, I was that child. In that time I was diagnosed with ADHD, but regardless, I was sensitive to everything and everyone. In 1st grade I was teased in the cafeteria - I was known as Skinny Bones (I know; poor me...but trust me that a 1st grader does not care about her skinny badge of honor). For me, real bullying didn't start until 6th grade, and then I had layers of bullies. In the classroom, my "best friend" would bully me one minute, then become my confidant the next. It was a crazy roller coaster of mindplay, but I felt like I had no choice but to stay friends, despite wedgies in the hall (yes, funny, but no, not so much when it's you) and spit in my hair.
But that was child's play until my second layer of bullying came along. Listening on the bus one afternoon to some 5th graders gossip about one of my classmates' sisters, I decided to pass the information along. Maybe I thought it would give me a leg up in my classroom; I don't know. As often happens when you choose to get involved, it came back to bite me. The sister was not the least bit upset with the girls talking about her, but life as I knew it at school, on the bus, and in the neighborhood was over. For 3 years, I lived in fear. I was always looking over my shoulder, waiting for my bullies. And did I mention they were younger than me? The shame of that is something you can't imagine unless you've been there.
