Cherokee Stop Bullying Me And Fucking My Mom Here

Mom, I see you crying in the garden when you think I’m not looking. I see you pulling the blinds when a car slows down too slowly in front of our house. I see the weight of their words on your shoulders.

But I also see you plant three sisters’ corn every spring anyway. I see you bake cookies for the very neighbors who ignore you. I see you teach me the Cherokee word ᎦᏚᎩ (Gadugi)—working together—even when they refuse to work with us.

We are not victims. We are survivors of the Trail of Tears. We are descendants of people who turned pain into porcupine quill art. A few modern-day bullies cannot break that bloodline.

Bullying is a pervasive issue that affects individuals across different cultures, ages, and backgrounds. It is not confined to schoolyards but can occur in various settings, including online platforms, workplaces, and communities. The impact of bullying can be profound, leading to emotional distress, decreased self-esteem, and a host of other negative outcomes for the victims. cherokee stop bullying me and fucking my mom

The Cherokee Nation, like many indigenous peoples, has faced historical and ongoing challenges, including discrimination, marginalization, and bullying. These experiences are rooted in deep-seated prejudices and misunderstandings about their culture, language, and history. For Cherokee individuals and their families, bullying can take on an additional layer of complexity, as it may involve cultural insensitivity, racism, or historical trauma.

Here is the secret weapon bullies never see coming: joy.

My mom and I have turned to entertainment not as an escape, but as a war cry. Every time someone tries to shame us at the local diner, we go home and watch Rutherford Falls. Every time a troll sends a hateful DM, we blast “NDN Kars” by Keith Secola and dance in the kitchen until we cry from laughter. Mom, I see you crying in the garden

We’ve curated a “Stop Bullying” playlist. It includes:

We’ve also made it a ritual: every Sunday is “No Bullies Allowed” Movie Night. Our favorites? Smoke Signals (“Hey, Victor.”) and anything with Adam Sandler—because if you can’t laugh at the absurdity of people who hate you for no reason, you’ve already lost.

By Anadisgoi [Cherokee for "Messenger" or "News"] Correspondent We’ve also made it a ritual: every Sunday

We live in a world that often mistakes kindness for weakness. As a woman walking in two worlds—the modern world of TikTok trends and Netflix binges, and the sacred, resilient world of my Cherokee ancestors—I have a message for the bullies who have targeted me and my mother: Osdadv. Enough.

For the past year, my mom and I have been the target of relentless gossip, social media snubs, and outright intimidation. Not because we did something wrong, but because we live out loud. We wear turquoise and ribbon skirts to the grocery store. We post videos of us making Kanuchi (black walnut soup) on Instagram Reels. We laugh too loudly at Reservation Dogs (because finally, finally someone got the inside jokes right).

And apparently, that audacity—to be Indigenous and happy—offends people.

If you see a family like mine being bullied—mocked for their regalia, shamed for their traditions, or excluded from community events—speak up.

I know you don’t want to hear this. You want Cherokee to stop. You want to win. You want the pain to go away.