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“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Just what I said,” she snapped. “The bullies showed up. Normally, no one even talks to me but my own friends, but when the other girls saw the scars on my arms, they came over to tell me how ugly they were. They said all kinds of terrible things to me and called me all kinds of names. One of them even said I look like a monster!”
Her face crinkled back up as she spoke, and I put my arm around her, pulling her close to me. She insisted on adjusting her hoodie as I gathered her in my arms, and I helped her out with it. I wanted her to have the guts to stand up to her bullies, but I knew now wasn’t the time to encourage her to expose her scars. I had to make sure she was back in her safe space before I talked to her more about that, and I figured the best way to do that was to help her cover up.
“I’m sorry, Lib. You know bullies only pick on other kids because they aren’t happy with themselves, right? They didn’t say those mean things to you because they were true. They said them because they aren’t happy with themselves, and because they aren’t happy, they feel like they need to make the rest of the world unhappy, too.”
“Well, it worked,” she said. “Because I’m not happy right now. I’m really upset, and I never want to show anyone my scars ever again! I don’t care what anyone says, I like being in my hoodies and my long sleeves, and I’m not going to ever show off my skin ever! Not ever!”
It was obvious to me how angry she was as she spoke, but I winced just the same, hearing how upset she was about this.
“Hold on there,” I told her. “Slow down. You just said you don’t care if anyone says you shouldn’t wear your sleeves, right?”
“Right.”
“Why don’t you take that same attitude and say that about the people who say you shouldn’t show your scars?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you said you don’t care that they don’t think you should wear sleeves, so you shouldn’t care when they say that you should wear sleeves or that they don’t like your scars.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“How isn’t it?”
“It’s just not,” she snapped as she stood up. “I feel comfortable in my sleeves, so when they tell me not to do it, I don’t have to wonder if they are right because I’m happy with my sleeves, but when they said my scars are ugly, well, all I can think is that they’re right.”
“Maybe because you need to remember how beautiful they are yourself,” I said quietly.
“They aren’t beautiful,” Libby said. “They’re ugly.”
“Stop saying that about any part of you,” I said. “You’re an amazing girl, Libby, and you’re a beautiful young lady. You’re growing into a beautiful young woman, and I mean that even with all your scars. I know you don’t like them right now, but when you let the bullies in your school tell you what you can and can’t wear, then you’re letting them win.”
“If I wear the sleeves, then they aren’t going to make fun of my scars,” she said.
“But every time they see you, they will think about how you don’t wear your short sleeves anymore because of what they said to you. You don’t want that. You want to show them that you don’t care what they have to say about you, because you’re a beautiful young lady no matter what they say. And anyway, did all the kids say this, or was it just a few of them?”
“It was Molly and Kelly,” Libby sniffed. “My friends told them to go away and leave me alone, but they just didn’t listen. I don’t know why?”
“But the rest of the other kids,” I said. “Did they make fun of you? Did they say anything about your scars? Or were they like your friends and stand up for you?”
“They didn’t do either of those things,” Libby told me. “I guess they pretty much just ignored the whole thing. I don’t know.”
“Well there, again you can see that not everyone thinks what those girls told you. They were just being mean to you because they aren’t happy themselves. The rest of the students didn’t even stop to form an opinion on your clothes, and your friends stood up for you. If you ask me, that shows that most of the people here don’t mind your scars. It’s just a couple of girls who didn’t.”
“I guess,” Libby said.
“And you know what?” I asked, hoping I was getting through to her.
“What?”
“I bet you anything they don’t even care about your scars. They just saw that you were doing something different, and they didn’t like that. They sound like the kind of girls to me who don’t want to see someone else do something well, and you just so happened to be that person today.”
“I guess,” she said again. “They aren’t really very nice to anyone. It just sucks when they pick me to be the one they’re going to bully that day.”
“I’m sure,” I said as I rose. “But that’s just it, you keep doing you, and they’re going to stop. You’re going to show them that you don’t care what they have to say about your clothes, you’re going to do what makes you happy, and that means wearing the clothes you want to wear. They’re going to get bored, especially when they see that they can say all kinds of things to you and it doesn’t matter. Bullies are sad that way, you know?”
“What way?”
