Confessions of a Former Bulldozer: Why Calling Your Kids Names Is Bad
The fun thing about nicknames is how they can occur naturally, from something one did or said. Usually they are positive things that evoke funny or happy memories. However, some don’t.
Content Warning: Discussions about childhood emotional abuse and name-calling
I tend to bump into things — not chronically, but it happens. As a child and teen, it happened enough times that one of the nicknames my mother gave me was “Bulldozer.”
I had other nicknames, such as “Zozo” and “ma cherie.” But I remember hearing “Bulldozer” in a heavy French accent followed by a laugh quite a bit.
Usually nicknames denote affection and fondness; when my boyfriend calls me “Love” via text, I feel all warm inside, like a chocolate lava cake about to melt. My children all have their own special nicknames that I gave them when they were babies, and we still use them to this day. Others have popped up over the years; some stick, some don’t. If any of my kids ever felt like they didn’t like one of their nicknames, they tell me and we’d stop using it.
Words have power: they can bring our mood up or down and certain ones stick in our minds like sharp burrs, unable to be shaken loose for years, if ever. I feel like names have even more power; they are words that people associate with us or we associate with ourselves, and they are personal.
Children internalize things they hear, especially a name. When a parent, loved one, caretaker, or anyone calls a child a name they aren’t comfortable with, that can feel very upsetting. In middle school, one girl thought it would be funny to call me “Oph” (pronounced like oaf). I hated it and asked her to stop multiple times; eventually we stopped being friends because I was so hurt by her insistence to call me a name that made me uncomfortable.
When my mother called me a bulldozer as a child, I internalized that word and all that it conveyed: heavy, bulky, ugly, bumpy, large, angular. Big. I began to feel like I took up too much space as a person and that’s why I kept bumping into things. I also believe that the nickname contributed to how I felt about my body, but that’s a tale I will save for another story.
I never spoke up about how that nickname made me feel; if I had, my mother would have just laughed and told me how it was an endearment or some such nonsense. I kept quiet in order to avoid bringing attention to myself. Honestly, it wasn’t until I started my own healing journey that I remembered being called a bulldozer and was shocked that my own mother would call me that. For years, I had accepted and internalized the name, not questioning the rationale behind it.
As a mother myself, I would never dream of calling my children or anyone anything like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with bulldozers, but people are nothing like them!
If we, as parents or whomever, are raising or caring for the next generation, then we should lift them up instead of bring them down. Of course, children need to be corrected and guided (I have been spending a lot of time teaching my kids about cleaning up after themselves lately…) but that doesn’t mean they are inherently bad or deserve to be called cruel names. Love spreads love and the world needs kinder words bandied about.
Thank about the difference in your body’s reaction when you hear kind words versus harsh or demeaning ones. Kind words cause feelings of warmth, safety, relaxation, understanding, yet cruel words cause tightness, fear, anxiety, or sadness. One reason I write these stories is to help spread kind and positive words because if there’s anything I’ve learned over the last few years, it’s that we humans need them more than ever.
Parenting is not easy and sometimes my kids make me want to pull my hair out, but I love them and it’s important to me to raise them in a supportive and loving environment. I’ve spoken to them about name-calling and how certain words can cause a lot of hurt to others. Those conversations are important and I hope that they remember them as the years go by.
As for myself, yesterday I showered my inner child with a lot of love and support when I started working on this story. I know now that I am not a bulldozer and I never was. I am worthy and deserving of love just as I am and I don’t need to shrink myself down to fit anyone’s idea of perfection. The idea that we as humans can “take up too much space” is ludicrous. I am going to take up just enough space for myself and leave room for others because that’s one way to spread kindness and understanding.
