Memories, Archived, and Alive
Childhood is often remembered as a time of innocence but unfortunately not every memory is made of sunshine. Some memories leave deeper scars, shaping the way we see others… and ourselves.
Welcome back, inspiring minds, to another chapter in The Making of Me. If you missed the first post Blended Together, it can be found [here].
Find a comfy spot, and come with me on a journey back to the past. A powerful period in time that not only demonstrated to me the effects of empathy—and lack thereof, but also the personal archive we all have. The memories, moments, and lived events that have shaped us into who we are today.
Before we get any further, however, reader discretion is advised. Today’s post will feature some jarring topics including bullying and self-harm.
As a friend from my past once shared with me, “There are chapters of our lives that history books will never record — but we remember them all the same.” While she may not have said those exact words, AI helped me capture the heart of it a little more clearly for all of us.
This brings me to something I’ve been reflecting on lately: While I firmly believe that most people are good-hearted and kind, there are always those few who take things to harmful extremes. These are the individuals who cling so tightly to their views or insecurities that they end up hurting others for reasons that are never justified.
I have a few stories from my own personal archive that I’d like to share with you today, each one a chapter in my history that has shaped how I view kindness, cruelty, and the impact of our actions on those around us.
When I was a young girl, someone I knew well experienced bullying. Not just normal bullying but everyday harassment. For the sake of her privacy, I'll call her Sandra.. This is a memory that remains etched in my heart because of how heartbreaking it truly was.
We were just kids, walking to recess like any other day, when Sandra quietly confided in me that she was being bullied. It wasn’t just a passing comment or a one-time joke. It was relentless. The kind of bullying that follows you, that lingers in the corners of your thoughts, the kind that chips away at your confidence bit by bit. And what made it worse was that it was happening over something entirely out of her control. Something she could never change: her physical appearance.
At that age, I didn't understand the depth of what she was experiencing, but I could see the hurt in her eyes as she told me. It wasn’t the playful teasing that we all go through at times. It wasn’t even just an isolated comment here and there. It was cruelty. The kind of cruelty that cuts deep and leaves scars that are hard to erase. Sandra was being bullied for something as natural as having arm hair. Our fellow classmates had found something to mock, something that no amount of self-improvement or changing could fix.
I remember the specific moment clearly. We were walking on the sidewalk behind our teacher toward the playground, the hum of other children’s voices filling the outside air. The laughter of friends, the chatter about the day ahead, and yet, right there in the middle of it, Sandra quietly confided in me. She told me how our classmates had called her hurtful names because of something so trivial. Names that still sting to think about. The fact that something so petty could hurt her so much was unfathomable to me at that age.
It made me question how kids so young could be so cruel. I had always been taught to be kind, to support my friends, to build people up. So why did this kind of behavior exist, especially when it seemed so unjust and hurtful? To see someone I admired, who was strong, athletic, and always so confident brought tears to her eyes over something like this, made me question the world around me. It seemed wrong, unfair, and deeply confusing. It shattered the image I had of childhood, the one where kids are supposed to be friends, supporting one another through everything.
But what truly shook me was the impact it had on Sandra. I could see it in her eyes, the hurt she tried to hide beneath a brave face. It was in the way she carried herself a little lower, the way she hesitated when she smiled, as if waiting for someone to tear her down again. It was heartbreaking because it was clear that she didn’t deserve any of it. No one does.
That moment with Sandra stayed with me for years. As I grew older, I started to understand the gravity of those early years and the lasting scars they could leave. What had happened to Sandra wasn’t just teasing. It was a wound that dug deep into her confidence, one that even time couldn’t fully erase. As I reflected on it, I began to recognize the power our words can hold both the kind ones that build, and the cruel ones that tear down.
I couldn’t help but think back to my own small experiences with teasing, the hurtful comments that stung, like the time a friend in high school made fun of my smile. It seems so small in comparison now, but at the time, it made me question every little thing about myself. If a simple comment could make me feel so self-conscious, I could only imagine the lasting effects Sandra must have felt, as she was constantly attacked for something out of her control.
The cruelty she endured was a harsh lesson in how deeply words can wound. And it wasn't just the words themselves. It was the absence of kindness, the failure to see the person behind the insult. Sandra didn’t deserve to be treated that way, and yet what weighed on me just as heavily was the realization that those around her—myself included—didn’t know how to step in and stop it.
Looking back, I wish I had known what to do. I was afraid that calling more attention to the situation might make it worse for her, but I also didn’t want to stand by while others continued to hurt her. After hearing what our classmates had called which left me questioning it in disbelief, I made a silent decision. I refused to repeat their words, even in passing, and tried instead to be a safe place for Sandra to confide in. I hoped, somehow, that if I stayed by her side and didn’t feed into the cruelty, the teasing would eventually die down. Still, a part of me has always wondered: how many of us had the power to change the narrative, but stayed silent out of fear, uncertainty, or simply feeling helpless?
Time passed, but the lessons from Sandra’s experience stayed with me. I thought I had seen the worst of how unkind kids could be. I thought I had understood the weight of cruelty. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
About a year later, another person I knew, let’s call her Cynthia*, who became the target of something even darker, even more unimaginable. This time, it wasn’t just quiet whispers or mean-spirited teasing. It wasn’t something you could easily look away from. It shook the entire school.
One morning, the principal came into our classroom, his face unusually serious. He spoke carefully, his words heavy with meaning. A note had been found—a list—passed around among students. And on it were words that still make my heart ache when I think about them. The note suggested that Cynthia should harm herself. That she wasn’t wanted. That the world would be better without her.
My heart absolutely shattered.
How could anyone think something like that was okay? Cynthia was bright, bilingual, and kind. A person who stood out but in all the best ways. Whether it was jealousy, ignorance, cruelty, or something even harder to name, I still can’t understand it.
No child, no teenager, no adult—no human being, period, deserves to be made to feel so unloved or unwanted. Ever.
Hearing what Cynthia endured opened my eyes to the depth of cruelty that can exist and just how far some people will go to tear others down. It left an imprint on me, one I couldn’t fully understand at the time but would carry with me into my own experiences.
Looking back, I realize I wasn’t a stranger to pain either. I faced my own quiet battles of being humiliated in front of others, called “dumb,” mocked for my mispronunciation, gossiped about, questioned for how I looked, and ridiculed for behaviors that didn’t fit into what others considered “normal.” There were even times when the cruelty followed me beyond the cement walls with subtle forms of harassment online, and moments when I couldn't shake the feeling that it was bleeding into my everyday life, too. But even through all of that, I was fortunate. Unlike Cynthia, I was never directly encouraged to harm myself. And now, with a fuller understanding of how heavy those words can be, I realize just how lucky I was.
Sandra’s struggles were daily battles. Cynthia’s experience was something no one no matter how young or old, rich or poor, no matter their race, or how they choose to identify—should ever have to endure.
And that brings us to why conversations like this matter:
Awareness. Empathy. Responsibility.
Every day, we make choices small ones, quiet ones that over time shape the kind of people we become. We are all bound to make mistakes. We are human. But we also have the ability, and the responsibility, to learn from them. To choose kindness over cruelty. To listen when it would be easier to turn away. To be better today than we were yesterday. Because a careless word can linger for a lifetime. And sometimes, the smallest act of kindness can echo just as long. That is why, it's so important to create spaces where people feel safe to be seen, to speak, and to heal. We are writing our own histories, one decision at a time.
Even through the confusion and the heartbreak, I learned. I learned how much our actions, our words, and even our silences can impact someone else’s life. And I realized I didn’t want anyone else to feel the way I had. I didn’t want someone questioning their worth, carrying the weight of someone else’s mistreatment without knowing how to set it down.
Later on in life, when I found myself witnessing situations where others were being mistreated, I couldn’t stay quiet. I wouldn’t stay quiet. I spoke up not just for the Sandras and Cynthias of the world, but for the younger version of myself who hadn’t yet known how to fight back.
I carried those early lessons with me: that the smallest acts can leave the deepest marks, and that kindness, even when it feels like a small, fragile thing, can be the strongest act of all.
They often say the struggles we face as adults have roots in our childhood. In my case, they weren’t wrong. But I’ve also learned that growth isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about choosing, moment by moment, to do better. To be better. To become someone who creates safe spaces for others, even when we never had one ourselves.
These experiences shaped me in ways I’m still uncovering, but they’ve also taught me the power of resilience, compassion, and speaking up — even when it’s hard.
Sharing pieces of my journey isn’t always easy, but if it helps even one person feel less alone, it’s more than worth it.
Thank you for being here, and for letting me share a piece of mine with you. Your time, open heart, and listening ears mean more than you know. Until next time, stay kind, stay curious, and stay inspiring.
And if you’ve been following along with The Making of Me series, I have one more chapter to share. Next week’s blog post will be the final one of this series of reflection on the early-on lessons that shaped me into who I am today. So, be on the lookout as I can’t wait to share it with you next Monday, May 5th, 2025.
As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!
***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***
