What to do if your child is being bullied at school

There’s a moment—quiet, but unmistakable—when a child stops telling you what happened at school. They used to narrate every detail, every snack swap and crayon duel. Then one day, their answers turn to shrugs. "It was fine." "I forgot." "Nothing happened." And sometimes, nothing did. But other times, something absolutely did. And the child who used to talk won’t anymore—because something about school doesn’t feel safe.

That moment is where many bullying stories start. Not with bruises. Not with notes from the teacher. But with subtle shifts: a lost appetite. A fake stomachache. A question left unanswered. It’s easy to miss. Even easier to brush off. And nearly impossible to catch if you don’t know what to look for. Because bullying in 2025 isn’t a single scene. It’s a cycle. And today’s kids are navigating it across real and digital dimensions their parents never had to map.

If you picture bullying as a scene from a 90s sitcom—a lunch tray shoved, a backpack dumped—you’re not entirely wrong. But it’s incomplete. Bullying today has become both broader and sneakier.

It still includes physical aggression and verbal teasing. But more often, it takes the form of psychological exclusion: ignored messages, sudden group chat removals, fake “accidents” where no one saves you a seat or invites you to the sleepover. It’s silence as punishment. It’s eye-rolls as performance. It’s a meme sent to a group chat… with one person left out on purpose. And when it happens online, it doesn’t stay there. The awkward hallway glances the next day are just echoes of last night’s TikTok comment thread.

Sometimes, it’s not what was said. It’s how it was staged. A screenshot. A passive-aggressive Instagram Story. A Google Doc shared with everyone except the person being mocked. These are the new tools of exclusion. They’re efficient, performative, and hard to prove. And unlike a playground scuffle, they don’t get resolved by lunch. This is what makes cyberbullying so insidious. It’s ambient. Persistent. And the harm follows kids everywhere: from classroom to couch, from locker to bedroom.

Parents often assume online behavior is either silly or savage. But the truth is messier. The most painful cyberbullying doesn’t always involve threats. Sometimes it’s a steady stream of in-jokes that one kid isn’t let in on. Or a Minecraft server where they’re “accidentally” left out. Or Discord voice chats where they get talked over until they log off. It’s death by emotional paper cuts.

Here’s the hardest part: most bullied kids don’t tell their parents until the situation is unbearable—or until it’s over. Why?

Because they don’t want to make it worse. Because they fear being seen as weak. Because they’re ashamed. Because they know their parents might overreact. Because they’ve already decided, consciously or not, that silence is safer than exposure. And because kids are observant. They know how their parents respond to stress. If they’ve seen you snap, spiral, or catastrophize—they’ll keep their pain hidden. Not because they don’t trust you. But because they’re protecting you.

That’s the paradox: bullied kids often become emotional caregivers to the very adults meant to protect them.

The signs are rarely loud. But they show up.

• Changes in appetite or sleep.
• Sudden resistance to school or social activities.
• Frequent “sick days” with vague symptoms.
• Withdrawing from hobbies they used to enjoy.
• Rewatching familiar shows or videos on loop as comfort.
• Anxiety about their phone or sudden secretiveness with devices.

One mom described it like this: “My son used to leave his phone lying around. Then he started sleeping with it under his pillow.” That was the only clue she got—until he broke down weeks later.

There’s no script. But there is a posture: open curiosity without pressure. Emotional steadiness over urgent fixing.

Instead of: “Is someone bullying you?”
Try: “I’ve noticed you seem a bit off lately. Want to talk about anything?”

Instead of: “Tell me right now what’s going on.”
Try: “We don’t have to talk now. But I’m here when you’re ready. No matter what it is.”

When kids do open up, meet their vulnerability with regulation—not rage. You can feel furious on the inside. Just don’t make that the first thing they see. Because what kids need most in that moment isn’t a hero. It’s a stable adult who can absorb their truth without falling apart.

We love giving kids phrases to memorize:
“Leave me alone.”
“Stop that.”
“That’s not funny.”

And yes, those can help. But kids often freeze in the actual moment. Because the body doesn’t default to logic when it feels threatened—it defaults to survival. That’s why role-playing is more powerful than pep talks. Set up scenarios. Play the bully. Let them rehearse different ways to respond. Walk through what happens next. Not just the words—but the breath. The posture. The exit strategy.

You’re not scripting them. You’re training their nervous system.

Here’s what helps more than the perfect retort:

Body language. Kids who stand tall—even if they’re scared—send signals that subtly shift power. Eye contact (even brief). Shoulders back. Neutral face. Calm walk away.

Emotional scripting. Teaching them that their worth is not up for negotiation. That someone else’s cruelty does not diminish their value.

Safe routines. Building anchors at home—reading time, weekend rituals, morning chats—that remind them the world is not entirely hostile.

Empathy practice. Encouraging them to name feelings, not just fix problems. To recognize: “I felt small when they laughed at me,” instead of jumping to: “So I just punched him.”

Confident kids still get bullied. That’s the hard truth. But confidence helps them survive it without crumbling. It gives them a script in their head louder than the one being hurled at them. And confidence isn’t built by praise alone. It’s built by competence. By knowing they can do hard things, have uncomfortable conversations, walk into the cafeteria and find one friendly face. So sign them up for something they enjoy. Not just for skill—but for self-belief.

Every bullying dynamic is a micro-study in power. Bullies seek control. Sometimes because they lack it elsewhere. Sometimes because they see it modeled. Sometimes because they’re rewarded for it.

Schools often handle bullying like PR disasters—contain the incident, issue statements, assign consequences. But what’s rarely addressed is the social fuel: who laughs. Who stays quiet. Who looks away. Stopping bullying isn’t about punishing one kid. It’s about shifting the culture that allows it to flourish. And that means parents, teachers, and community leaders have to model what real power looks like: calm boundaries, consistent care, and zero tolerance for cruelty-as-humor.

Sometimes, kids can navigate bullying with the right support. Other times, adults need to step in. The line? When the behavior is chronic, harmful, and power-imbalanced.

• Document what your child says—names, dates, behaviors.
• Approach the school calmly but firmly: “We’re not here to assign blame. We’re here to restore safety.”
• Ask what systems they have in place—not just discipline but prevention.
• Follow up. Politely, persistently.

And if the school fails? Go higher. File reports. Loop in child psychologists. In rare cases, consider legal action or transfers. Your child’s psychological safety is non-negotiable.

Tricky territory. Some parents deny it outright. Others get defensive. But a few—often the most effective—approach the situation with curiosity and accountability. If you reach out to another parent, lead with impact, not accusation. Say: “My child has come home very upset multiple times this week. I wanted to understand what might be happening and see how we can help both our kids resolve it.” If they’re open, you can co-create a path forward. If not, document and shift your efforts back to institutional support.

Teach your child the difference between a bystander and an upstander. Bystanders watch. Upstanders disrupt.

That doesn’t always mean confrontation. It can be subtle: inviting the excluded kid to sit with them. Messaging a classmate, “I saw what happened—I’m here if you need.” These small acts recalibrate the social script. They say: “You are not alone. This is not okay. And someone sees you.” And that’s where the healing begins.

We live in a culture that glorifies toughness—but secretly aches for tenderness. Where we teach kids to “speak up,” but don’t model emotional literacy. Where we still, sometimes, mistake cruelty for confidence. Bullying won’t disappear with policies or punishments alone. It softens when enough kids feel safe enough to stop performing power—and start choosing connection.

So if your child is in the thick of it—hurting, hiding, hardened—start with this:

You are not broken. You are not alone. And you don’t have to keep rehearsing someone else’s script about your worth. Because the real lesson in learning how to deal with bullying in school isn’t about clever responses. It’s about unlearning shame—and relearning self.