When I was 13, I lived with my mom and younger sister after my parents’ divorce. My dad was unable to take us in because he was the one who left, so he had no place for kids to live in; his own living arrangements were precarious.
The first house we lived in after the divorce was a two-story split level house with bathrooms on both floors. The one in the lower floor was me and my sister’s while Mom got the top floor one.
The lower floor bathroom was also the laundry room, and it was like either the laundry area or the bathroom area were afterthoughts with how weird and sloppy the general layout was. The shower looked like an upended bathtub, and we put up a thin almost see-through shower liner as the “curtain”. The washer and dryer was right in front of the shower.
I was taking a shower one day when Mom came in to do the laundry. I started to holler at her to get out; the laundry can wait 10 minutes (I took very short showers, even if I were washing my hair or shaving).
Her reply was to tell me to “shut up or I will open the curtain to look at you”.
I shut up and was very happy when she finally left. It’s just one the many forms of abuse we went under while living with Mom. She used my own sense of privacy and boundaries against me many times, but that was the most blatant.

(When I was in Secondary School – high school in the UK, I was a socially awkward, easily bullied, odd kid who didn’t brush his teeth, wash or care for my appearance. As a result I didn’t have much friends, and the one I did have is the reason for this story.

The only real true friend I had during those years wasn’t always a true friend in the sense that if “his” group of peers decided to make fun at me, he would join in too. When I was that age I did not know any better, and just went with it. But, the one incident that pretty much ended the friendship altogether during a night he was invited over to my house to sleep the night.

We were playing video games in my bedroom when he received a text from one of his peers, inviting him over to his house instead. Friend of course, obliged and fucked off. My mother, who was out buying food for all of us that evening from the local chippie when she found out he had left — I had told her he was asked to go home — was FURIOUS. Not upset, just furious. She saw straight through my story and was so angry she barred him from ever coming over again. It didn’t really matter at that time as I was less than a week from leaving school and going to College.

Fast forward several years, and I have outgrown my social awkwardness, started taking better care of myself and if I can humbly brag; am a very successful man with the ladies. I’m browsing Facebook one day when I receive 2 notifications; one being a friend request from [Old Friend] and a message from him.)

Old Friend: Hello mate how r u? Not seen u in ages

(I’m about to be the pleasant so and so I always aim to be but then I remember that look on my Mother’s face all those years ago, still holding his food in hand. It all comes back to me and before I reply, I take a quick look at his profile. +7 years of human progress and this pleb is unemployed, looks exactly as he did in school and has a significantly less following than I do in comparison. I can’t help but feel a *little* bit antagonistic at this turn of events and decide to get even.

Me: Uhh, hi?

Old Friend: [My Name] it’s [Old Friend] we were mates in school

Me: Oh yeah, don’t get me wrong I remember that as clear as day. I also remember how during those years you ever so kindly joined in with *your* friends in making me the butt of your jokes. Yet silly old me went along with it because we were meant to be friends. Then that all changed that night when you went over to [Other Friend]’s house because I wasn’t worthy enough for your time? Was my Mother spending her hard earned money on feeding you not enough? Actually, don’t bother answering that, because I’m sure whatever excuse you’ve got ready is just going to be feeble bullshit. But I can see for a fact that you, [Old Friend] have not moved an INCH in the last 7 years. You’re unemployed, you look exactly as you did back in those days and I would dread to think — let alone believe you even have a significant other. Come to think of it, I am so grateful you made a fine example out of what type of person you are, you saved me the massive bother of becoming exactly like you. So, enjoy being what you’ve become [Old Friend], do not message me ever again.

(He did type a response, but deleted it and blocked me soon after. Karma is a real bitch!)

I ran out of body wash and forgot to go to the store, so I used my husbands bar soap instead. That day, a male coworker who is usually very nice seemed uncomfortable and distant.

Me: You okay?
Coworker: You smell weird.
Me: I ran out of body wash so I used my husband’s soap.
Coworker: Why?
Me: Because …. I ran out?
Coworker: So you smell like a man?
Me: I guess I do. Why?
Coworker: I don’t like it. It’s weirding me out.
Me: Uh…Sorry?

I got home that night and told my husband. He laughed and said it probably confused my coworker to look at a beautiful woman who smelled like a man.

A Catholic school where I lived had an outreach program where low income families could receive full tuition, uniforms, school supplies, and church attire, all paid for provided the child passed an initial assessment or was special needs. I was fortunate enough to score very well on the assessment, and was accepted for the program.

I loved that school. For the first time, I was being challenged by school work, and the library was absolutely amazing.

But then, there was Timothy. He looked down on people whose families couldn’t afford the school. Add that to the fact that I have C-PTSD and cried very easily, he targeted me almost immediately and proceeded to be one of the worst bullies I’ve dealt with.

Now, this was in North Platte, right next to the Platte river. The soil there is extremely good, and one product of it is earthworms as long as your arm. I was terrified of them.

Somehow, Timothy found out and proceeded to bring one to school, pull it out during recess, and chase me around the schoolyard with it.

I was frantically trying to get away and decided to make a break for the chapel, as I was sure an adult would be there. As I rounded the corner into the chapel parking lot, the priest happened to be pulling out, and I collided with his moving car.

Now, he was only going a couple miles an hour, so I just bounced off the bumper, fell, an scraped up my hands and knees. No broken bones or anything.

But the poor priest was terrified that he’d hurt me. He was out of his car immediately to check me out. Once no broken bones were found, he took me up to the nurse.

Once there, he asked me why I was running in the parking lots, and as I was still shaken, I broke down crying and told him what happened. He promised to address the issue.

For the next month, Timothy spent his recesses in the chapel, repeating the positions of the cross and reciting prayers. Apparently, he’d also be warned he’d get another recess of the same for every time he picked on me. It didn’t completely stop his behavior, as whenever we weren’t being monitored by an adult, he would find ways to harass me, and I was too scared to report him, but it was much better.

And that’s the story of how me getting hit by a priest’s car caused a bully to get his comeuppance.

(Once I was playing a dancing game with my brother. Our dad is a fanatic about soccer and forced me to play it for 15 years. It was awful for a nerdy girl like me.)

Brother: “Hey you really like dancing huh?”

Me: “I always wanted to dance, but Dad always made me play dumb soccer. Year after year! It sucks!!”

Brother: “Hey!!!”

Me: “Oh yeah I forgot you’re obsessed with it too.”

(Moral: parents don’t force your kids to play a dumb sport! They will resent you!)