The Reason Everyone Needs Self- Defence

When I was 10, my four siblings and I started being bullied. At first it was simple things like yelling slurs about our appearance and mannerisms. Coming from a financially- unstable background with abusive parents in different kinds of ways, we were not very well adjusted to the societal standards of public school. Being the second- eldest that actually cared about my siblings and people like me, it was my responsibility to should the harsh comments about me and my family and defend both my older sister and younger siblings- one boy and two girls. At the age of 10 we already knew too many horrible things about this world. Besides the bullying from our peers at school and our parents, my older sister was distant and cruel. My little brother became aggressive and despised the world around him. My little sisters gained binge- eating disorders and social disorders that prevented them from allowing to interact normally with other children their age. I started self- harming and stopped eating. Because of our malnourished size and tattered clothing often three sizes too big, we were the perfect target for the cliche bullies of our time.

Being the protective sibling, I was always sticking up for my siblings. Ensuring my brother could make friends in peace, making sure my sisters were being left alone to eat in peace, and trying to befriend the other outsiders in my cohort of the fourth grade were all parts of my daily struggle. I always felt helpless when I was bullied myself, because my siblings weren't there for me like I was for them, as they were younger. Every aspect of my life was out of my control and nothing left me more helpless than the fact that I couldn't even protect myself, let alone my siblings sometimes. I tried my best, defending them with the venomous words of a girl in the fourth- grade, but it wasn't enough.

There can a day when it really hit me as to how helpless I was. Sean, a pale, quiet kid in my class, was also a regular target for bullies, and it was on one of my last days at Boronia Heights that I stood up for him. As with every cohort, there was always the group of kids that would be the main culprits in our torture, and it was those group of boys I stood up to. I stepped in front of a flying fist, not the first of the ordeal, and they stopped. Surprisingly, despite disliking me and every other kid that was different to them, didn't override the life- lesson of not hitting girls. So they didn't. My little brother, sensing my danger and snapping (not for the first time), stepped in to defend me. Before I could react, Sean had run away and I had been grabbed by two of the kids. The other six laid into my brother, pummeling him with their fast hands and speedy kicks, and although I fought, there was nothing I could do. My powerlessness has once again prevented me from protecting my siblings, and I never let myself forget it. This happened twice in the one day, and that was my breaking point. That week, I moved in with my Dad and Step Mum, and the first thing my Dad did was enroll us into karate. I was slow, and scared, and hateful, but determined. I didn't want to continue to fail in protecting my siblings. I never saw those bullies again, but I knew if I ever faced them again I would be ready.

Cut forward to age fourteen; I'm still very small, but I'm strong where I stand and my kicks are powerful, my voice is heard when I speak. Bullying was never not a part of my school life, and an eighteen year- old had approached me during class. I had excused myself to go to the bathroom, and after stepping out of the stall he grabbed me and slammed me against the wall with a hand on my mouth. Without thinking of the consequences, my muscle memory kicked in, and I reacted. He found two fists in his eyes and throat before a kick in his groin. He was absolutely humiliated, but injured. After the ordeal was over, a wave of regret and fear washed over me again, and I accompanied him up to the office where he told a story of tripping into the sink.

I don't know what would've happened to me if I hadn't have had that training- an eighteen year old boy was a lot stronger than me and twelve year old me wouldn't have known what to do. But as in most other situations, I was my only backup.

Never underestimate the power of your own self- protection. There is a constant stream of news stories in which young men AND women could have avoided horrible circumstances that impacted their lives. Don't let yourself become accustomed to always having someone around that will help you, because in your darkest moments, only you can save yourself.

Anyone can be the bad guy, and anyone can be the victim.

Not many can be their own savior