Why Kids Who Are Taught to Be “Too Nice” Get Bullied: What My Childhood Taught Me About Parenting
Last Tuesday, I stood on the sidelines of my 10-year-old’s soccer practice, twisting a lukewarm coffee in my hand, when I saw the thing that made my chest tighten. A boy twice Leo’s size shoulder-checked him out of the way to get to the ball, then laughed when Leo stumbled over his own cleats. I waited for Leo to shove back, or yell, or at least walk away to another part of the field. Instead, he brushed grass off his shorts and smiled, and said “Sorry, man, didn’t see you there.” That’s when my own 12-year-old self popped right back into my head.
When I was that age, my parents drilled one rule into me above all else: be nice, no matter what. If another kid took your crayons, be the bigger person and share. If someone teased you, they’re just having a bad day, kill them with kindness. If you get upset, you’re being too sensitive, and you’re the one who’s ruining everyone’s good time.
I remember when I was 8, a girl in my class stole my favorite pack of silver sparkly crayons out of my desk every Monday. I went three weeks before I worked up the courage to tell my mom. She sat me down at the kitchen table and said, “She doesn’t have nice things at her house, that’s why she takes them. If you’re extra kind to her, she’ll see you’re a good friend and stop.” I tried. I shared my snack with her, saved her a seat at lunch. She took my erasers the next month. I never told my mom again.
By the time I got to middle school, I was the perfect target. I never said no. I never made a fuss. I apologized when other people bumped into me in the hallway. When a group of boys started taking my lunch money every Wednesday, I went hungry for three days before I told my dad. His response was the same as always: don’t be rude, don’t make a scene. Making a fuss will just make them like you less. I stopped telling anyone anything, and ate lunch in the bathroom stall for a whole semester.
It took me until my mid-30s to unlearn that instinct. I still catch myself apologizing for taking too long to order coffee, for asking for a raise, for calling in sick when I have a fever. I don’t blame my parents, not really. They grew up in small, quiet towns where everyone knew everyone, and getting along meant never rocking the boat. They thought they were raising a well-behaved kid that everyone would like. They just didn’t see what that lesson was doing.
When I became a parent, I made a conscious choice to do small things differently, things I never got growing up. They’re not big, fancy changes, just small shifts in how I talk to Leo.
For example, I never force him to apologize for taking up space. If he’s standing in line and someone runs into him, I don’t jump in and prompt him to say sorry like my parents did with me. After that soccer practice, I asked Leo in the car why he said sorry to the boy who pushed him. He said “I don’t know, that’s just what you say, right?” I told him, “You were in the right position to get the ball. He pushed you. You didn’t do anything wrong, so you don’t have to say sorry. Next time, you can tell him ‘Don’t push me’ that’s it.”
I don’t force him to hug or kiss relatives if he doesn’t want to, either. When I was a kid, my parents made me hug my great-uncle every Christmas, even though he smelled like cigar smoke and I hated the way he squeezed my shoulders too hard. They said don’t be rude, he just wants to love you. That taught me early that my discomfort doesn’t matter more than someone else’s good time. Now, if Leo doesn’t want to hug someone, I just say “He’s not in a hugging mood today, how about a high five?” It’s a little awkward sometimes, but it teaches him he gets to say no about his own body.
I also don’t force him to share if he doesn’t want to. If he’s playing with his favorite Lego set and another kid wants a turn, I don’t step in and say “be nice, share with your friend” like I was taught. I just tell the other kid “He’s still playing with that right now, he’ll let you know when he’s done.” It teaches him that he can set boundaries around his things, and his needs matter as much as anyone else’s.
Bullies look for kids who won’t push back, who will prioritize being nice over standing up for themselves. That’s the part my parents never got. Kindness doesn’t mean letting people hurt you. And teaching kids that their only job is to be nice sets them up to be the easy target. I also tell Leo straight up that it’s okay to yell for help if someone is bothering him, even if it makes a scene, and that there’s no such thing as being a snitch when someone is hurting you. That’s another rule my parents never gave me.
It’s not perfect. Last month, a kid in Leo’s class copied his science fair project and got Leo in trouble for cheating. Leo didn’t say anything to the teacher for two days, because he didn’t want to be “mean” to the other kid. We talked through it, practiced what he would say, and he went to the teacher the next day, and it got sorted out. Some days he still defaults to being the nice guy, and I still catch myself defaulting to the old “just let it go” instinct sometimes. I have to stop myself, every time.
I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t think I’ll ever completely escape the lessons my parents taught me. But I hope that by letting Leo be a little less concerned with being nice, and a little more comfortable saying what he needs, I’m not setting him up for the same years I spent hiding in bathroom stalls. It’s a work in progress, and that’s okay.
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