Actually, I'm not fine… blog

Part 2: When Defense Becomes the Problem

Trigger Warning (18+): This post discusses bullying, physical and emotional abuse, and difficult family dynamics. If you’re in crisis, please seek immediate help (resources at the bottom).

There’s a cruel twist to being hurt: when you finally push back, the world sometimes calls you the problem.

As a kid, I learned quickly that survival sometimes meant standing up even if that standing up made everything worse. When someone shoved me in a school hallway or cornered me in a locker room, my body reacted the only way it knew how: fight. But the rules people hand out for who’s the victim and who’s the aggressor rarely match the messy truth of real life. Defending myself didn’t come with a badge of honor. It came with consequences.

I remember one fight in middle school that didn’t even start with me. A girl pushed me into the gates, and the moment I pushed back, and my fist met their face, the suspension followed. I was lectured, punished at school, and then punished again at home. Here’s the hard part: there was comfort in being punished for something I’d done. It proved, if only to myself, that I existed on my own terms and that people’s anger had a reason, however distorted. The other times I had been hurt, there was no explanation and no justice.

That was worse.

High school didn’t change the script. If a friend disliked someone I knew, that dislike became my problem. If someone’s partner was jealous, I became the target. Groups would circle, whispers would follow me down hallways, and an adrenaline-fueled readiness became my baseline. I walked through life carrying the expectation of attack, and that anticipation shaped how I related to the world.

There are lessons in those years that have stuck with me but not the ones you might expect. I didn’t learn that violence is right, or that revenge heals. I learned that when you’re forced into defense, the options are messy and imperfect. I learned how the systems around us (schools, families, even peers) are quick to stamp a label and slow to untangle context.

So what does the grown-up version of that look like?

How do you move from a survival stance into something like agency; where you can protect yourself without being defined by the fight?

Here are a few things I learned, painfully and slowly:

Check list [ ]

1. Context matters, but it doesn’t always save you.
2. [ ] Systems are blunt instruments. Schools and workplaces often handle conflict with a checklist: incident- consequence. That’s why it’s important to document, gather witnesses if you can, and speak up to someone who can advocate for you. But also accept that sometimes the system will fail and prepare for what you’ll do if it does.
3. Boundaries are different from aggression.
4. [ ] There’s a difference between hurting someone and enforcing a boundary. A boundary is about protecting your inner life; aggression is about hurting another. Saying “No” clearly, leaving unsafe situations, and telling trusted adults are boundary work. Over time, these practices rewire how you react.
5. Choose your battles with intention.
6. [ ] Fighting every single moment burns you out. That doesn’t mean tolerating abuse. It means learning to assess risk: will pushing back make it worse? Is there an adult or ally who can help? Can you remove yourself instead? Strategy keeps you alive longer.
7. Find advocates and witnesses.
8. [ ] Loneliness makes defense harder. When someone else can corroborate what happened, authorities and institutions are more likely to act. Trusted teachers, coaches, or coworkers can be the difference between being silenced and being heard.
9. Therapy helps translate instinct into choice.
10. [ ] A therapist taught me how to recognize the old survival reflex and give myself a second before I reacted. That pause is revolutionary. It doesn’t make you weak it gives you the power to pick a response that preserves your dignity.
11. Forgiveness is optional; safety is not.
12. [ ] You can work toward understanding why someone hurt you without excusing their behavior. Choosing not to return to the same space or person is not cowardice; it’s self-preservation.
13. You’re allowed to change your mind about what safety looks like.
14. [ ] As a teen, I wanted invisible escape. As an adult, I wanted clear exits, strong locks, and dependable friends. Both needs were valid. Both evolved as I learned.

There are still times when a memory of a hallway or a locker room stabs through me. I still flinch at certain sounds, balling of the fist was an instant reaction, get ready. Brace yourself. But the difference now is I can name those reactions and choose what to do with them. That’s grown-up defense: not the raw fight of a cornered kid, but a wiser, more strategic protection of your life and peace.

If you’re carrying that same hypervigilance, know this: it served you when you needed it. As you heal, you won’t have to carry it the same way. You get to learn new strategies. You get to cultivate people who see you, believe you, and stand with you.

Reflection prompt: What’s one boundary you can practice this week that helps you feel safer physically, emotionally, or online?