Haters in Disco Pants, Fruit Jugglers, & Facebook Trolls: My Real-Life Training Ground

Poof! I’m Already the Queen (Now Get Out of My Head) Oh wait… I already am the Queen. Poof. You’re gone. Just like that, the thought of you can disappear from my mind. But before I let it go, I want to share some past, present, and future wisdom for anyone who’s ever had to deal with a bully, a hater, or any other kind of undesirable energy trying to dim their light.

 The Teacher in Disco Pants

When I was 8 years old,

I had a teacher I’ll never forget and not in a good way. He was flamboyant, expressive, and wore tight bell-bottom disco pants and fur jackets... in a Catholic school.

Quite the statement in a sea of nun habits and conservative uniforms. At first, I appreciated his boldness. I’ve always felt different, and even at eight, I was already trying to express that through accessories, jewelry, and writing. But this teacher? He saw my individuality as something to mock. Every Wednesday, we had to turn in spelling homework: “Make your own sentences.” And every week, he’d read mine aloud in a loud, whiny, mocking tone. The class would laugh not because I was funny, but because he made it a joke. I remember his glare, like he wanted me to know: “You think you’re clever? I can make your life miserable.” And he did. I never stopped turning in my sentences though. I didn’t want to give him that power. Until one day, my best friend’s mom overheard us talking about him and she stormed into that classroom. Let’s just say, the disco diva never mocked my homework again. But I stayed on his radar. Once, before a spelling test, my bracelets jingled on my wrist.

He screamed, “NOOOO!” like I’d ruined the peace of the universe. Then, in front of everyone, he ripped the bracelets off my arm and flung them across the room like confetti. Lesson learned: Snitches get stitches… and apparently, sparkle gets punished.

 The Fruit Juggler’s Girlfriend Fast forward a couple years I was about 10, hanging with friends in the west side neighborhood I grew up in. We wandered into a grocery store (as kids do), and I locked eyes with a cute older boy juggling fruit like a circus act. I laughed, he performed harder. It was innocent fun. Until I noticed the death stare from the girl next to him. Yeah, she wasn’t impressed. And outside the store, she was waiting for me. “Do you like my boyfriend?” Not a question more like a threat. That was my first physical fight. Not for a boy. Not for love. But for my pride. I was scared until I wasn’t. Until I felt that rush of power that made me want to win. Not because I cared about the boy juggling fruit, but because I couldn’t let her humiliate me. I didn’t know who threw the first punch. I just know it ended with a cop pulling up, asking if we wanted to go to “juvey.” “What’s that?” I asked. “Jail. For kids.” We went home real quick.

Why Do They Hate Me? Looking back, I realize something: People hated me for being me. Not because I did something. Not because I said something. But because I had presence. I never had a big mouth just a mouth that worked. I said what I felt. I expressed myself. And that intimidated people who couldn't or wouldn’t do the same. Some told me to tone it down. To be quieter, smaller, easier to swallow.

So I did the opposite. I expressed myself harder. I found every avenue possible to say: “I will be me. If you don’t like it then bring it.”

The Pain of Growing Up Different My parents were young 15 and 17 when they had me. They put me in Catholic school to give me a better education, and I’m grateful for that. But I was different, and no matter how hard I tried to blend in, there was always someone reminding me I didn’t. Sometimes I wasn’t picked up from school on time. Other parents made comments cruel, passive-aggressive little jabs: “Where are your parents? Don’t they care?” I learned real quick where kids learned to be mean. From home. And to those moms? I’m not embarrassed anymore. Your kid’s still on my Facebook, not because we’re friends but so I can keep shining in front of you. Your mom is still... your mom. I said what I said.

Haters Love the Mud ,

Facebook is the devil’s playground for petty people. Fake profiles. Screenshots. Spying. Manipulation. All that energy… just to hate.

But let me tell you something: Haters are obsessed. They want to know everything about you,

Just so they can twist it into something small and bitter.

But guess what? The only people who believe their lies… are just like them. Real ones know the truth. And anyone you lose because of a hater? Was never worth having.

Final Word for the Haters (and Anyone Fighting Back) Haters love to wrestle in the mud. But when you join them, you just get dirty too. Misery loves company. Don’t RSVP. Don’t let anyone live in your head rent-free. Their opinion is worthless. If someone doesn’t like you, mocks you, lies about you online don’t look. Don’t feed it. Don’t chase it. Don’t give it breath. If people really know you, they’ll know the truth. And everyone else? They don’t matter.

So if you’re fighting a hater, a bully, or a sad soul trying to dim your shine remember:  You are not weak.  You are not alone.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_O6vjUHMag

You are already the Queen. And when you walk in that truth? Poof. They’re gone.