Have you recently felt like someone was making fun of you? Sure, we've all experienced it at some point in our childhoods. Maybe you were picked on because your pants were too short or your stylish "Toni Tenille" replica hairdo made you look more like Tony Orlando. (Not that this happened to me or anything.)
While it's common to be teased in childhood, it's certainly not as common in adulthood, which for me is a good thing. Despite my age of 45, I'm horrified of being singled out. It's why, as much as I'd like to, I don't participate in group exercise classes anymore ("Excuse me, Ma'am, but the class is going this way."). And why I repeatedly check myself in the bathroom mirror when visiting my clients. Who could blame me after that toilet paper in my suit pants incident in the Board Room? Talk about a professional low.
Haven't we outgrown bullying?
I'd also like to think as adults, we've grow up and are beyond picking on others. But the other day, while working out at my gym, I learned that it isn't necessarily the case. To explain the situation, I have to confess an imperfection that has plagued me for most of my adult life: I have a slight…okay, a not-so-slight...tendency to sweat heavily while exercising. It used to bother me until my friends in the health and fitness field told me that sweating was a good thing. It meant that I was releasing excess water out of my body (and since water is the only thing I seem to retain these days according to my sister) that seemed OK with me.
I’ve never let my sweating stop me from going to the gym, particularly since working out has proven to be a major coping technique to help me deal with the stresses in my life. And to be honest, none of the other gym members seemed to care. We sort of had an unspoken agreement – they wouldn’t notice my sweating and I wouldn’t judge their spandex. This unspoken policy seemed to work very well until the other day.
I had just finished a grueling 60-minute workout on the elliptical when I spied two attractive 30-something women staring, pointing, and laughing at me. To make matters worse, they were speaking in Spanish. I was shocked that they were so bold to make fun of me as their laughs and facial expressions knew no language barrier. When I looked at them, I had to admit I knew the type – the sports-bra-only-wearing, spandex loving, face-painting --types. They oozed perfection while I oozed sweat.
I could feel my already red face growing redder. And for a second I thought I would cry, though I probaby had no water left in me. But then, I started to get mad. Defiant, actually. I thought, How dare they make fun of me so openly when I had been minding my own sweaty business?
Drawing strength I didn't know I had, I gave them a dirty look with a message that said, Give me a break? How old are we to be making fun of people?
At that instant, I thought of my daughters, particularly my oldest daughter with Asperger's, who has spent much of her life being singled out for her differences. Kids have teased her for flapping her hands. Or for her inability to run fast enough in gym. Or for her learning difficulties at school. This would happen to her day and in out and she'd still get up for school and face each day with newfound promise.
I’ll admit that when I was a young child, I wsa a bully. I made fun of one girl in my class from Holland who had dutch shoes on her house. In fact, when my daughter was first picked on, I was convinced God was punishing me because I teased this harmless girl. And when I came across the essay by Emily Perl Kingsley about raising special needs children, entitled Welcome to Holland, I realized maybe God was trying to to do something -- to enlighten me not punish me.
My daughter's ability to deal with her differences has certainly done that.
“Mom, I don’t care if my friends tell me this coat is too big and that it makes me look fat. It belongs to my grandmother. And I miss her so much and just want a part of her close to me."
So those snooty ladies at the gym can make fun of me all they want. I'm gonna take a page out of my daugther's book -- and not sweat it. Or as those ladies might say, "No para sudar."
Have you been bulllied as an adult? Tell us about and how you handled it.