For every person who feels different, unwanted or “too much”. For anyone who has been bullied… I’ve been there. And I want to tell you what comes next.
South Africa (25 October 2025) – The recent bullying incident dominating conversation in South Africa has stirred outrage, heartbreak and urgent debate. While the investigation continues and every mainstream outlet tracks each development, something else has been happening too… something deeply personal.
South Africans have started sharing their own experiences of being bullied. These stories are painful to read, yet incredibly powerful… because so many of them come from people who made it through to the other side.
I posted my own personal piece this week. A bit of perspective from me. My “Dailies” (as I call the opinion pieces I share on my socials) don’t often cross over into Good Things Guy content. Even though, as the founder (and the guy my editor occasionally lets write), perhaps they should.
The response has been overwhelming. Thousands of kind messages and heartfelt comments have poured in. While I can’t reply to each one, I want to say thank you. Thank you for being part of this community rooted in kindness and love. Thank you for trusting me with your own brave stories and for reminding me just how much good there truly is to hold on to.
I have had a few messages asking me to post it in an article form, as some would like to share it beyond social media. So here it is.
From Hurt to Healing: My Story on Bullying, Shame and Strength
Yesterday I sat in my car sobbing. And then again at a restaurant. And one more time at my desk last night (I was doing some emails before bed).
This bullying story has triggered me so much.
I know why.
And I wanted to share my story with you. Layered with perspective. Mine.
Related Story
I was bullied. I have spoken about this before but maybe never to the extent of what I am about to tell you. Reliving this in my head has brought back so much trauma. It caused a 40-year-old man (who will still answer to 29) to sit in a restaurant with tears pouring down my face.
I was so young.
There were a few kids who really hated me. They didn’t like what was different about me. They didn’t understand it. But they didn’t like it. I was a little flamboyant. I didn’t like soccer. Or any sport really. My mannerisms weren’t manly enough. I was soft. Far too empathetic. Overly expressive. Dramatic.
A faggot.
I was also 6 or 7.
There is a whole narrative about hate being a learnt behaviour. And a serious question as to why a kid feels so threatened by another kid who is a little different. Like where does that stem from? Also, where did they learn that word from? I used that word specifically because that is what they called me. There’s also a much more complex issue about identity. I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me. And the world was telling me what I was. And making me feel like that thing, that they could see, and I could feel, was the worst thing about me. I guess that is why many gay guys (and people in the LGBTQIA+ community) have such an awful relationship with guilt, shame and pain. We are born from it. Our velvet rage.
I digress. Jammer Wimpie.
The bullying was mild. A look. Flapping wrists (at me). Words. “It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve”. You okes need new lines. Sticks and stones. A push here and there. Being excluded. Ostracized. And made to feel less than.
So what. I was brave. On most days. On others, I faked a tummy ache and stayed in the sick bay. Or at home. But I got through it.
Also, I need to add that not everyone treated me this way. I had really awesome friends. And bladdy fantastic teachers. Beautiful humans who protected me, as much as they could… until they couldn’t.
It was a hot summer’s day. I was 10 or 11. I can’t exactly remember. It’s always 11, isn’t it?
There I go again…
I was on the soccer field. I was playing with ladybugs. Those yellow and black ones. I loved those things… they don’t seem to be around anymore. A group of kids made their way towards me. I didn’t think anything of it. Until I was pinned down to the ground. All of them. They held me down. And the girls started kissing me. With tongue. They had planned to teach the “fag” a lesson. I had never kissed anyone before. I was so confused. I was so young. I kept trying to get them off me. To stop. I was screaming at the same time. Just trying to get them to stop.
They eventually did. But I guess my reaction wasn’t good enough.
And that’s when a little bit of sexual assault turned into a full-blown assault. They started to kick and punch me. They beat me black and blue.
Thankfully, they finally left me.
Lying there on the ground.
Bleeding.
A broken little boy.
When the teachers saw me, they phoned my mom immediately. She came to the school with the wrath of all the gods. My mom is a fucking lioness. Do not mess with her children. Any of them. You will see a different side to my kind, gentle, beautiful mom. She will end you.
I am not entirely sure what happened behind the scenes but the school took the situation very seriously. Something happened with all the kids. And their parents.
I was never bullied again. Not even a skeef look. It all stopped in its tracks.
I think you can connect the dots as to why that video so triggered me. By that kid desperately trying to get away. To get help. To go home.
But that’s not why I cried.
You see, I phoned my mom yesterday to talk to her about what happened. And when I got off the phone, I realised how incredibly lucky I am to have the mom I do. She has always been in my corner. She has always had my back. She made me believe that I was braver, stronger and had more potential than I could have ever imagined.
In a world that can be so tough, my mommy made me tougher.
My social media feeds have been filled with other moms, and dads, and humans who are all speaking up against the bullying.
And that’s what triggered me.
I felt so alone on that hot day, left on the field, bleeding and broken. And I guess there have been other moments where that “aloneness” has crept in. That trauma. But what left me in tears yesterday was this realisation that I was never alone. That I have never been alone. I have my mom. And my friends. And my family. And my peers.
And so do these kids who were bullied. ALL KIDS WHO ARE BULLIED.
They have an army of people who care.
You’ll notice I didn’t mention the school because I don’t believe this is a school-specific problem. Bullying happens everywhere. All the time. Even as grown-ups.
And this is where I was going with all of this.
If you’ve made it this far, then you’ve made it to the most important part.
To anyone who is at the receiving end of bullying, you are not alone. You have a whole pack of lions ready to help you. And more than anything, I want you to know that you will get through this, and even though it may change you, you will be okay.
And to the bullies… I hope one day you find the courage to look inward and understand the pain that made you want to hurt someone else. Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Hurt people, hurting people. It doesn’t excuse it. Not even for a second, but maybe, just maybe, when you finally see the damage you’ve done, you’ll choose better. You’ll heal. You’ll grow.
You’ll learn that kindness costs nothing but it can save everything.
You see, that little boy didn’t stay broken. He grew up. Surrounded by kindness. He learnt that his softness wasn’t weakness. That his difference wasn’t danger. And that his empathy wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Those were the things that made him extraordinary. The very parts they tried to break became the parts that helped him heal others.
And maybe that’s the point.
Maybe the reason I cried wasn’t just because of the pain of what happened but because I can finally see the beauty that came from it. The love that surrounded me. The courage my mom taught me. The reminder that even when we might feel alone, bleeding and bruised, someone out there is roaring for us.
Roaring for YOU.
So if you’re that kid (or even that grown-up) who’s still trying to make sense of the hurt, please remember this: You are not broken. You are becoming. And one day, you’ll look back and realise that the thing they tried to silence was the thing that made you unstoppable.
I think I just turned a trigger into a glimmer.
Okay. Love you. Bye.
by 