The bullies are gone. But the bullying isn’t.
Originally written in January 2018. Updated October 2026.
I remember the dread of waking up in the morning before school, knowing I was going to have to get myself ready and face my tormentors at the bus stop. I also remember not being so thrilled that, after I got to school, I’d probably face some additional bullies at the school itself. Then when I got home, the neighborhood might have a couple I would need to deal with as I went out to play with my friends. For that matter, home might be kind of interesting too, depending on the day, the mood and whether or not my family was going to take our frustrations out on each other. This is not a story about those bullies; they were vanquished long ago. This is a story about the bullies we become after all those bullies are gone.
I have this habit of waking up at 3am. I try my best not to get out of bed and disturb my incredible wife or picture-perfect house or (my now adult) children. Instead, I mostly lie in bed reviewing. Sometimes these reviews are good ones, a highlight reel of sorts, but all too often, my brain has this tendency to wake up in full-on bully mode. It’s waiting for me on the corner of 2:55am and 3am, just like those middle school bus stop bullies in the days when I wore hand-me-down, Salvation Army purchased by-the-bag, girl’s jeans to school instead of the cool Levi’s I was “supposed” to wear. My self-imposed bully is just as critical, just as bad about calling me names and pushing me around. I might even call myself Dorky, just like they used to, as I dwell on some dumb or awkward thing I said to someone. In the wee hours of the morning, before I ever get in my nice car and drive to my awesome job or my phenomenal church, where I have incredible co-workers and a community that loves and respects me, I can still push myself around pretty hard. It seems I learned my childhood lessons well. I can pick myself apart and attack all my weaknesses just as well as anyone in my neighborhood, bus stop or household used to. It turns out I’m pretty good at this bullying stuff!
Before I learned to give myself grace, this 3am ritual was a decades-long torture session of sorts. I would lie there and review the day’s or the week’s mistakes and failings, sometimes audibly gasping or wincing as they flew through my mind. This was not incredibly productive, as you might imagine, but I was cornered by the bully in my head. I felt I had to fight my way through each scenario, punching myself in the proverbial face for each mistake I made at work or at home, taking on the full weight of every hurtful word, every missed chance to spend time with someone, every career misstep, every poorly worded email and every word I uttered to those I loved in frustration or exhaustion. There was no one coming to save me. There was no one to turn to. I had to beat myself up; I had no choice. Over time, this took a toll. It wore me out and tore me down emotionally. Then one day, I decided to take a different approach. This approach was shared with me by some really incredible people I started hanging around. They actually helped me open my ears to the same message many of those closest to me had been trying to share with me for years. I was simply too stubborn and fearful to hear it. They taught me — no, they showed me — what was available, at absolutely no cost. I decided to accept that incredible gift and finally give myself permission to be imperfect, recognizing the work had already been done for me, realizing that the bully I had become was just that: a paper tiger, a false witness.
I still wake up at 3am often, just like I did this morning. I’m sorry to tell you, the bully is still there. He still tries to punch and taunt and cajole me into making myself small and weak and insignificant. He likes to tell me I am not a unique and valued masterwork. I am not a child who is loved unconditionally. Nowadays, most of the time, even if he lands a right hook or two, I don’t fall into the trap for long. As he came for me this morning, I did what I’ve learned to do. I named him: Sergeant Stunod. Then I turned to the One who defeats all bullies, and to the voices I’ve chosen to let pour into me. I observed the fight more like a spectator than a participant. I took away the lessons learned, but not the bruises, not the pain and none of the scars.
Whether you have experienced “real life” external bullies or not, we all have this tendency to be our own bully. The question you have to ask yourself is this: how long are you going to take it before you say you’ve had enough?
Eight years later
This little post grew up. It became the opening of my next book, Full of CHIT.
The 3am bully has a name now: Sergeant Stunod. The voice thought it was protecting me. But it was holding me hostage.
In the book, this is the Hurting posture: humility pushed so far it turns into hiding, until you can’t even ask for help. The way out was never fighting harder at 3am. It’s what those friends showed me years ago: permission to be imperfect, and better voices pouring into an empty cup.
You do not fill your cup alone.
If the 3am bully knows your name too, you’re not alone, and you don’t have to fight him by yourself.
- Keep going: I write more about this on Substack at John Johnson is Full of CHIT.
- Watch: short videos and leadership tips on YouTube.
- Read the bigger story: Breaking Building Belonging: Why the Voices We Follow Matter.
- Everything in one place: linktr.ee/fourforsoaring.
#iwant2CUsoar
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