Lisa once conceded that “the fact that we eventually came to laugh at you… was self-defense.” Now, I don’t know exactly who the “we” is that she referred to because Virginia could hardly have been afraid of me. The kids in my class at Lycee weren’t scared of me either, they were too busy holding their noses with disgust because of how I smelled and making fun of my lazy eye. Nor were the kids in the neighborhood that I played with, the ones she admits in her book she never got to know.

I knew Lisa had grown afraid of me though as the years wore on. She had good reason.

After being told so often that I was bad, I eventually decided to stop resisting and went all-in on embracing the identity. I remember saying to myself “ok fine, if that’s who I am, I’m going to make the most of it.” I committed to seeing just how bad I could really be.

Lisa, meanwhile, was no angel either. Her stories don’t seem to make accommodations for that possibility though. She was forever the hard done by, the mistreated innocent, the angelic one to be pitied. She seems incapable of making the connection between her experience of others and her own personality and behavior.

For example, Lisa writes in her book about how she was great at making up rules for games. She certainly was. She was in her element when she could tell everyone what to do, how to do it, and what they were doing wrong. She’d get angry whenever someone improvised and didn’t follow her instructions to the letter. She was like a little fascist dictator, making us go this way, no that way, no you stay here, no I’m in the middle, you’re supposed to be holding that ball, dummy… She would tell kids they were stupid, judge their behavior and correct how they spoke. No one could argue or negotiate with her, it was always her way or the highway.

Sometimes, of course, we would play along. But Lisa only had one mode and if she couldn’t be in control, or if she wasn’t invited to play (which increasingly happened over time) things got ugly. She would pull out all her best manipulative tactics, among them: “it’s not fair,” “that’s stupid,” “you’re all mean,” “anyway, you’re doing it wrong,” and her favorite “that’s not allowed, I’m going to tell on you!” Her rigid, entitled, and condescending attitude made her an increasingly unappealing playmate.

But our mother admonished me to take her everywhere I could. Whenever I showed up with her, the kids I played with would cringe and whine “why did you have to bring her?” I had no choice of course.

Lisa’s entitlement and self-pity were learned. Virginia would frequently remind Lisa how much more she deserved. It was as if Lisa walked on water. Moreover, to reinforce the myth of Lisa’s “goodness,” Virginia used me as an example of how NOT to be, ultimately glorifying Lisa by dehumanizing her sister. 

Being taught to believe you’re the “good kid” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be though. “Good kids” are locked in their identity more so than the bad kid in the long run. If you’ve always been told you’re good and always in the right feels good. Being led to believe she’s faultless and innately good shields a kid from ever seeing their inevitable mistakes, and their existing flaws. This prevents them from developing enough resilience to really examine and admit their dark side as they get older. So to doubt the credibility of me being innately bad would mean Lisa would have to question the inherent-ness of her own innocence. It’s a catch 22. A trap.

In an article I read a few years ago about the ‘good kid / bad kid syndrome,’ a child psychologist wrote that although growing up the so-called “bad kid” is empirically more difficult in childhood, the good kid ultimately suffers in adulthood. Due to their “good kid” role never having been challenged, she can get trapped in a rigid identity in adulthood that can keep her from forming healthy relationships. This interference can be detrimental, and can negatively affect marriages, families, friendships, and professional lives.

Having grown up being pitted against my sister in a good kid vs bad kid dynamic, that makes sense to me. While the “bad kid” has been desensitized through years of having their noses rubbed in their mistakes, the “good kid,” has had no such challenges. Her skin never had a chance to thicken. As a result, she can end up harboring an intense fear of examining (let alone admitting) the “bad” parts of herself.

To compensate for that anxiety, the “good kid” acts aloof in order to give others the false impression that they’re tough, that they’re strong. The “bad kid,” on the other hand, has grown comfortable with self-inquiry and their own imperfections. These kids have a much better chance of developing into stable adults. But not having had the early experiences of weathering frequent accusations, punishment, guilt, and shame, the “good kid” is never desensitized. She remains blocked, paralyzed by fear (and an un-nameable shame), and refuses to accept that she might not be all that good after all.

Lisa has described me as a kid “like a cross between Nelson (you know, the character from the Simpson’s who used to beat people up and laugh when they fell and hurt themselves) and Lucy Van Pelt. “It wasn’t that people hated you,” she said, “it was that you were almost comically brutish and un-self-aware.” No doubt she’s right about the last part. I was very likely comically brutish and un-self-aware. But that only explains why she hated me, not why my sister Virginia did, nor the kids at school.  

Many bullied children go on to mistreat others, it’s all they know after all. In the mind of a threatened elementary school kid looking to take out her humiliation and hurt on someone else, it’s better to choose an easier target than the big scary bully (Virginia, in my case). I chose LIsa, the little bully, instead. 

Of course, Lisa still refuses to see herself as a bully, but I understand that reluctance. Admitting guilt about bullying behaviour is exceptionally hard to do. I certainly didn’t enjoy coming to terms with my own meanness and bad behaviour all those years ago. But if I have one piece of advice to give, it’s to learn how to find the courage to leave your ego at the door and face that music. Without exception, everyone has hard-to-stomach shameful truths, times we’ve been hurtful to others. However, and without exception, we all have unhealed childhood wounds too. 

My experience, though, is that the sooner you can admit your own mistakes, the easier it is to forgive yourself. Learning how to forgive ourselves, is how we learn how to see the bad things that happened to us as equally the product of others’ mistakes learned in childhood. It’s how we learn to forgive others. Being able to forgive the little kid in ourselves, helps us to see (and eventually forgive) the little kid in others. 

Your mother hasn’t been able to do that yet. She may never find the courage. She has no problem pointing to her own victimization, and she’s certainly justified to feel hurt by those events. She has a hard time seeing herself as anything other than a victim though. It’s natural to see ourselves as the innocent protagonists of our own stories. Growing up in a home with addiction, though, all children learn how to mistreat others. They’re victimized while being groomed to victimize (usually very unconsciously). And despite her desperate wish otherwise,  Lisa is no unicorn.