Bullying is a funny old thing. Actually it’s not but it’s funny how it hits you, sometimes years later, in the most random and inappropriate situations. The word ‘bullying’ is bandied about a lot and I guess it’s subjective, much like pain, some people can take more while others are sensitive. Whatever your threshold it’s not something anyone should have to ensure…

When I think about the idea of being teased or humiliated or isolated I think of children or lads in the pub, of immaturity and insecurity. A sense of inferiority that masks itself in bravado and the need to belittle others to prop a lagging sense of self esteem. Kids have to defend themselves against other kids but should never suffer bullying at the hands of an adult.

When I was a kid I did Irish dancing. Yep, like many other school going pups I was sent after school with my pumps and a bottle of water to tear around a wooden floored room to traditional music. At times it was like the blind leading the blind but it was challenging and exciting and despite everything I loved it. I was obsessed and danced competitively for years. I ate it and drank it and slept it and wanted it to be my whole life and everything I did.

I had a dancing teacher who was very successful and I did well. I travelled all over Europe and the States and to the most wonderful events and random towns to perform. I made some of my best friends ever while I was twirling! But that same teacher who presented these wonderful opportunities was also the one who played on, or maybe even created, my deepest insecurities.

When I was around 8 she took me down. Not in the physical sense but she floored me ,and smiled as she did it. I was a giddy, slightly mischievous but mostly diligent young one! I was ambitious and wanted to be good so I worked hard. She saw ability and pushed me. So far so good… One evening we were dancing as usual in a group. She stopped the music midway and asked me to repeat the ‘step’ again on my own. Everyone was asked to watch and to correct me, to assess what I was doing wrong. I was 8. This was a regular occurrence. If it wasn’t me it was someone else. Everyone knew the drill. “Let her dance, when she asks the question, say nothing. It could be me next time.”

But there was a new kid in, an ex Billy Barry kid who was by all accounts a bit more polished than the rest of us and what some might call a ‘lick arse’. We were a bit rougher round the edges and thick as thieves but had welcomed her. When I finished my step, the teacher turned to the group (at least 60 other kids) and asked “So, can you tell me what Angela did wrong?”. I, knowingly stood in silence awaiting the returned silence. It was all cool. Then, Billy the Barry piped up and said whatever she had to say. It doesn’t matter and I can’t remember. I turned, a little stunned at hearing someone responding and I guess was somewhat embarrassed by the whole thing.

The teacher, watching my reaction looked me straight in the eye with a smile and said “Angela, you need to learn how to take constructive criticism”, I said nothing, nodded, whatever. She then, still smiling turned to the class, sixty plus kids aged between 5 and 11, and said, “Everybody laugh at her”…

I can still hear that line and though it’s ridiculous and meaningless now, it still catches me off-guard every time. I well up and feel vulnerable and look back at my 8- year-old self and want to hug her and shake her and show her how to flip the bird. I wish I could have told that teacher to go fuck herself and her fat calves. I wish I could tell every kid in that room who grew up to tolerate her criticism and slights and backhanded put-downs that they were better than that.

I don’t remember if I ever told my parents, I’m sure I didn’t. I don’t even remember being upset, just angry and humiliated afterwards but it wasn’t something that stayed with me in the immediate. I look back and think how pissed off my folks would have been to think that they paid this women SO much over the years, that they trusted her to take me and my sisters; to help us and push us and teach about commitment and dedication and competition and practice. She did some of that.

Hindsight is a beautiful and valuable thing but it comes too late. Sometimes the damage is done and it doesn’t even make sense that you feel ‘damaged’ but that catching in my throat makes me sure that some part of that experience has changed me.  Maybe it’s made me tougher, or maybe I’m weaker. I hope it’s made me more sensitive and aware of the impact of seemingly flippant comments. But it’s definitely made me more weary of authority. It’s because of this incident and the fifteen year relationship that came after, that I am mistrustful and cynical and sometimes utterly allergic to authority. Or maybe just the people who abuse it…