What To Do When Your Kid Keeps Asking “Will I Get Bullied For This?”
I’m folding mismatched soccer socks last Sunday when Lila, my 13-year-old, leans against the laundry room doorframe, thumb hovering over the post button on her TikTok. “Mom,” she says, not looking up, “will I get bullied for this?” The video is 30 seconds of her folding a tiny origami T-Rex, showing off the shelf of 47 dinosaur origami she keeps on her desk. This is the third time she’s asked me this question in two weeks. First it was before she cut her own hair into a choppy uneven bob, then it was before she brought homemade dill pickles she fermented herself to share at lunch. Now this.
For the first two questions, I gave the answer I’d always planned to give. I said “Who cares what anyone else thinks? You love your hair, the pickles are awesome.” I said “People who bully are just sad and insecure, don’t let them get to you.” Both times, Lila just nodded, tucked her hair behind her ear, and didn’t do the thing. She went back to the hairdresser to even the bob out more than she wanted, left the pickles in the fridge at home. So when she asked this time, I didn’t give that answer. I remembered the coffee I’d had with her school guidance counselor, Ms. Henderson, a month before, when I brought up that Lila had stopped joining the after-school art club she’d loved for two years.
Ms. Henderson said something that stuck: When kids ask if they’ll get bullied for something, they’re not asking for a pep talk. They’re asking for help figuring out what to do if the bad thing actually happens. Most of the time, it’s not that they’re terrified of being bullied forever—it’s that they’re facing a small risk, and they don’t have practice working through it. We as adults often jump straight to “it won’t happen” or “it doesn’t matter” because that feels easier than sitting with the fact that bad things actually can happen. But dismissing the fear just makes it bigger, because it leaves the kid handling the what-if alone.
So that day in the laundry room, I sat down on top of the dryer and gestured for her to sit next to me. I said “What’s the worst thing you think could happen if you post it?” She thought for a minute, then said someone would comment “cringe” or screenshot it and send it to their friend group chat to make fun of it. I nodded, that makes sense. I said “Okay, what would you do if that happened?” She shrugged and said “Delete the video, I guess.” I said “What else could you do?” We went through the list together. She could block anyone who says something mean. She could leave the comment up and just not check the notifications for a day. She could reply “Thanks, I made it myself” and move on. She even joked she could post another video making fun of the comment back. We agreed that no matter what happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, because even the worst comment would be forgotten by most people by the end of the school day. Lila said she’d noticed that too—when someone got made fun of for a post last month, everyone was talking about it for 10 minutes between classes, then moved on to something else.
At the end of that, I asked her if posting the video mattered more to her than the chance of getting a few mean comments. She nodded, hit post, and went back to her room to do homework.
A week later, I’m waiting in the pickup line at school when she climbs into the passenger seat, pulls out her phone and shoves it in my face. The origami video has 217 likes, 14 comments from people asking how she folded the T-Rex’s tiny arms, and two comments that just say “cringe.” She rolls her eyes and says “I blocked both of them. It’s whatever.” I asked her if she was glad she posted it, and she said yeah, definitely.
This isn’t some big fix for bullying, obviously. Bullying is still a real problem in schools and online, and sometimes bad things do happen even when you prepare. But what I’ve started noticing is that this question doesn’t have to be a stop sign. Before talking to Ms. Henderson, I thought every time Lila asked “will I get bullied for this” it meant I needed to reassure her it wouldn’t happen. Now I know it just means she needs help working through what happens next.
For parents or teachers reading this, the small shifts are so simple, I almost can’t believe I didn’t think of them before. First, ask them to name the specific bad thing they’re worried about—don’t let it stay a vague scary blob called “bullying.” Nine times out of ten, it’s a specific small awkward thing, not a months-long harassment campaign. Getting that specific takes a lot of the power out of the fear. Second, walk through all the actual things they can do if that bad thing happens, instead of just telling them it won’t. Even bringing a change of clothes, or muting notifications, or having a friend to sit with if things feel awkward is enough to make the risk feel manageable. Third, let them make the call, once they know what they’re getting into. It’s their call to decide if the thing they want to do is worth the small risk of discomfort.
Last night, Lila wandered into the living room where I was watching TV, holding her green inflatable T-Rex onesie. The school dance is this Friday. “Mom,” she said, “will I get bullied for wearing this instead of a dress?” We sat for 10 minutes, talked through what could happen, what she’d do. She decided she’ll tuck a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in her friend’s bag just in case she wants to change, but she’s wearing the onesie. I said okay. It’s still uncertain. She still might get some comments. But the question didn’t stop her this time. And that’s enough for now.
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