In middle school, I valued the idea of popularity. I was convinced that if I could become friends with the most favored group of girls, then all my problems would vanish. They were the pretty, smart, wealthy, and most desired girls at my school. These girls retained a presence that, to me, at the time seemed quintessential and I sought after their acceptance. I was blind to the obvious catty and exclusive nature of their group and I persisted at being their friend until, eventually, I succeeded. I was finally allowed to sit at their lunch table, excluded from the conversation, but still included in the thrill of that particular spot in the lunchroom and the publicity that it was given. Little did I know, I was only allowed in for their entertainment.
I was the explanation for all of their inside jokes and I was completely blind to it. They derided my appearance and personality, making specific observations and suggestions about what needed improvement. I was told my eyebrows were too thick and too masculine and that they should be tweezed; my eyelashes were too long and they should be cut; and that I was prude, had no style, and needed to be more athletic to fit in. Perhaps, it was my naïve and diffident persona that made me such an easy target, but I acted on everything that was said. I was slowly changing my appearance and altering my mannerisms because I believed it would make me cool. It was nailed in my head, the theory that if I were prettier and more promiscuous, then everyone would like me. The more they picked at me, the more I hated myself.
I discovered the mass of the bullying one-day while taking a trip to the bathroom during class. There, on the walls in the back stall, written in fresh black sharpie was a chart. My name was written in a row next to two other girl’s names. Underneath each name were tally marks (I had the most) and above, it read “Biggest Prude @ (name of middle school I attended)”. After a few seconds of contemplation I broke out into tears. It was not the sight of my name and the title that hurt most; it was the tally marks. Thirty-three anonymous lines, all written in different colored ink but monochromatic because of one shared opinion.
Not knowing each person responsible for the tallies is a mystery that still taunts me to this day. As I matured and middle school ended, I never did get over the things those girls said to me. However, I definitely did not feel like I needed to change who I was to please other people anymore. My differences, the things I was relentlessly teased about in school, were quite possibly my best features and I am able to realize that now.
If someone told me four years ago that my life would be the way it is now, I would never have believed them. I go to an amazing college, I have an amazing group of friends, and I work hard to maintain a 4.0 grade point average. That insecure thirteen-year-old girl will forever live inside the deepest part of my memory. As I continue to grow and mature, I will use what I have learned from my experiences to help other young girls who may be insecure find confidence.
My bullies were my biggest educators in school. I learned more from them than I did any teacher. I learned that words have an impact, and more importantly that self-worth is only self-defined. No one has the power to tell you what you’re worth and what your capable of, only you can do that for yourself. I want every young girl who’s dealing with bullies to know, that confidence is the key. Be confident and hold your head up high. Girl’s are only as mean as they are because of their own insecurities. As women, we are all struggling with the same fight to feel like we are a part of something and fill that unrealistic mold of "perfection."
This week's "Kindness Challenge" is to give more compliments! Let’s smile more, and lift each other up. Let’s show our young girl’s the power of positivity and how important it is to be the better person.
With every compliment and smile comes a more confident young lady.
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