Every story about growing up as girls features someone like me. We are the girls who spread nasty rumors, the ones who get the entire lunchroom to conspire against you so you have no one to sit with, and the ones who make riding the bus a nightmare. We are the girls who make other people’s lives miserable because we are so absolutely miserable ourselves.
Around the age of ten, I entered the world of puberty—although it was not my own. I waited for my multi-inch growth spurt and for my baby fat to shed, and while I waited, I got picked on for being a late bloomer. I wasn’t hurting anybody and I just wanted to be left alone, but seeing as that was not going to happen, I assumed the role of a “Queen Bee” and everyone was fair game for my sting.
Listen, I tried the usual tactics at first. “Ignore them and they’ll just get bored,” my mother said. (They don’t.) “Tell a teacher.” (That didn’t work either.) “Well, then make fun of them back.” That one was like striking gold because I discovered I had the gift of being able to come up with clever retorts on my feet, insults that were ridiculously biting to the point of making them cry. It was a type of self-defense—until it wasn’t.
Each small verbal victory felt like a giant success for me, so I decided to take it to the next level. Why even let these kids get the first word in? I can shut them down before they even start. That, too, worked like a charm! Being mean enabled me to always have people to hang out with, to never be at a loss for things to do, but I found myself constantly on guard. I was worried someone would stop listening to my insults and start actually looking at me. It was a tiring, sad existence, like trying to balance on a two legged stool.
As I got older, many of my so-called friends stopped hanging out with me. So then I’d make fun of them, too! I’m embarrassed to say that it wasn’t until, during a breakup, a boyfriend said, “You’re just too mean!” that I started to consider how my years of bullying had built a wall that prevented me from just enjoying others’ company. I always had to judge everyone first before they had the chance to judge me.
Years after I shed the baby fat and gave up on having that growth spurt, I was stuck in this mentality I had created. I was alone and undesirable not because of my outside, but because of what I lacked on the inside. And I thought I was miserable before!
I had to come up with a new plan, though this time it needed to be a positive one. I’d taken the first step—be honest about having a problem—and now it was time for the next one. I had to stop being an awful person and apologize to the people I’d hurt. It was hard, but I told each girl I had been mean to that I was truly sorry for what I’d done. It wasn’t like a movie where they thanked me and smiled and then we all went out for ice cream. Many of them were still angry with me. Some girls said they were glad I at least apologized, but many weren’t able to do that. To see that, even years later, people still hated me felt like I’d punched myself in the stomach. To know that I had made other people live for years with low self-esteem felt awful.
With step two only partly complete, step three (to like myself more) felt farther away than ever. But I had to accept the bad things I had done, forgive myself for being imperfect, and work hard to be a better friend. None of this was easy, but in the end it was absolutely worth it. When you don’t spend your days constantly on guard, when you don’t judge people because you’re afraid of being judged, and when you are able to accept people as they are (surprise, surprise), you become a happier person. The biggest bully I ever had to fight was myself—and I sure am glad I won!
Image © Cheryl Casey | Dreamstime.com