I have had hairy arms and legs as young as five years old(I’m a guy) and kids even in kindergarten used to mock me for my hairy arms, calling me a gorilla and such.
I remember wanting to shave my arms, or get rid of the hair somehow. My dad when I told him just laughed, and said in less than ten years no one will care you have hairy arms, and hey chicks like hairy guys. I dunno about the chicks liking hairy guys thing, but he was right in that around middle school my hairy arms became a non-issue.
In retrospect it was a really stupid thing to let bug me.
My thing isn’t really what I let get to me, but rather how I reacted to teasing. Being a giant nerd and rather emotional as a young boy, I got picked on a fair bit until high school, when I grew quickly and, as a competitive swimmer, got ripped. (amazing how being stronger and bigger than the bullies makes them pick another target). However, in grade school, when I was picked on, my defense mechanism was arrogance. My reasoning was that the bullies were picking on me because they were jealous of my intelligence and therefore had to rely on physical intimidation to bring me down to their level in some way.
While this worked great for protecting my self-esteem (I’ve never had any real depression or low self esteem episodes at any point in my life), it also made the bullying and teasing WAY worse (and made me come off as a jerk to people who didn’t know me well). I also toughened up quite a bit as I grew up, both in college and then in the Army…so I want to go back to my 8 year old self and say “suck it up, kid” about some things and “for God’s sake, just shut the hell up and don’t antagonize the people who are picking on you.” with regards to the teasing.
I too had hairy legs as a youngster. And I too was very bothered by that. And I too got over it. And I too now think it was a stoopid thing to worry so much about.
You had hairy arms!?! Yeesh! Now that IS gross! Well, I guess you turned out OK.
My flat feet would always bother me at summer camp. All the kids would get out of the pool and they had these perfectly curved footprints, and mine were basically rectangles with five dots at the top. A lot of the time I’d walk on the edges of my feet to try to simulate a normal footprint.
I remember my parents teasing me, trying to get me to tell them who I loved best (ie was I a Daddy’s girl or Mummy’s girl). I’d get really upset and not want to choose one over the other, and say I was both of theirs.
In retrospect, the more they pressed for an answer, the more I should have said “neither”, but that wisdom only arrives at teenagehood.
I had, from age 11 - 13, what is now called a “frenemy.” She was supposedly my best friend but always put me down and generally treated me like crap. One day we were walking up the street together and she made fun of the way I walked - my toes turned outward - and said I walked like a “penguin” and laughed at me. Well it took me a while but I managed to make both my feet point straight while walking. Which has since backfired on me, 20+ years later, because now when I run my right foot turns IN a little bit and now I’m trying to correct my stride again.
I was one of the biggest guys in Junior high. But not at the least bit confrontational. Some new little kid thought it would be fun to try to goad me into a fight by calling me names. Called my mom names too. I would not fight him. It bugged me and bugged me. I should have cleaned his clock.
Or maybe not. A few days later he was kicked out of school for having a .45 in his locker.
I had bad overbite and was tall. Being called "Bucky " and "beanpole "didn’t help my self esteeme. I also changed schools eight times , the last four years of high school were in four different schools. I was always the new girl.
Since English isn’t my native tongue, I would be stressed out over a) my accent and b) not knowing idioms/allusions/vocabulary in general. I carry this over to even now. Someone in a Cafe Society thread called me out for using “plaintive” wrong and it’s sticking in my craw a little too much.
In kindergarten, a little boy asked me, in all seriousness, if I was a boy or a girl. I let that bother me for a very long time. I was also pretty self-conscious about some of my clothes. I wore hand-me-downs sometimes, and some of it was boy’s clothes from brothers who were 10+ years older than me.
