 |
| Teenage me with my one of my (super adorable) siblings |
Dear Teenage Self,
Yeah, you with the bangs. (Whyyyyy?! I've
never forgiven us for the bangs.)
I've been thinking about you a lot lately,
with your glam band shirts and giant chip on your shoulder. You were hell bent
on proving to people that you weren't hurting inside. But you were, and we both
know it. Let's not kid ourselves.
Being hounded relentlessly in the hallways
for everything from your looks to your weight? Hurt.
Being turned away by kids who used to be
your friends but were now afraid of being associated with you? Hurt.
Being set on fire in front of the school by
two malicious girls? Hurt. (In more
ways than one.)
Having to change schools because you clearly
weren't safe at your old one? Hurt. So
much hurt.
That's why you got depressed and wanted to
take your own life. It's why you drank as much as you did and couldn't stop.
It's why, for most of your adult years, you lugged around this idea that you
are somehow less than everyone else. Unworthy. Invisible. Voiceless. Hoping
nobody would discover the "real" you, because then they wouldn't like
you anymore. (My therapist calls this "imposter syndrome," and it's
been a major theme in adulthood, believe me.)
Today, when I was chatting with someone
regarding media promotion for an upcoming event I'm speaking at, it suddenly occurred
to me that I was chatting with someone
regarding media promotion for an upcoming event I'm speaking at.
And that this is not the first time, and
probably won't be the last.
So, as I sat there, ironing out the details,
I thought of you, Teenage Self.
I thought of you standing with your face in
your locker like you were looking for something, just so no one would see you
cry.
I thought of the sweat on your brow each
day, as you wondered where you were going to sit for lunch, and whether or not
anyone would want to sit with you.
I thought of you making your way into the
guidance office and volunteering your time so you could avoid the hallways, and
how you prayed they wouldn't see the panic set in if they told you they had
nothing for you to do that day.
I thought of how you got expelled at your
new school for lack of attendance, and how it didn't phase you in the slightest
because you had pretty much given up on yourself by then. You were a shell of a
human being, all the emotion drained out of you through invisible wounds.
I'd be lying if I said I don't have a hard
time negotiating my current life with my past one. I don't know how I went from
shutdown teenager to outgoing thirty-something, or how seemingly voiceless me
now writes for a worldwide audience and speaks to rooms full of people who come
to hear what she has to say.
It doesn't seem to match up, does it? But I
guess it's no different than a lot of people who had challenging childhoods.
For whatever reason, most of us make it out the other side. I'm grateful for
that.
I
want to tell you that things get a lot better. You
find true love. You make beautiful babies. You have a career you can't get
enough of. Your life isn't always easy, but it's always rewarding. You had a
few fits and starts, education-wise, but you do get your high school diploma at
38—with honours and awards, I might add.
You're pretty cool, too. I mean, for a mom. You have some really amazing friends and a huge support circle. Trust me, the good stuff is coming.
You're pretty cool, too. I mean, for a mom. You have some really amazing friends and a huge support circle. Trust me, the good stuff is coming.
Most importantly, you finally figured out bangs will never be your thing and fixed your damn hair. You are now the mayor of
Sexytown.
 |
| BAM. No bangs. |
I would love to tell you there is no
residual pain from those long ago years, but I'd be lying. Our inner critic
picked up where those kids left off, and she can be relentless some days.
There's still a part of us that fights against the words and actions that were
hurled in our direction. Invisible wounds leave invisible scars.
But let's not get all down about it,
Teenage Self. Dry those overly-eye-shadowed eyes and come get a hug.
It happened. It sucked. It wasn't right. It
didn't "happen for a reason," as has been suggested to everyone in
the history of ever who has been victimized in some way.
But have I been able to pull something
positive from the wreckage? Oh, absolutely.
We have a daughter now, Teenage Self, who
is presently the same age you were when those kids lit you on fire. She's also
transgender, which puts her in a much higher risk category for becoming a
victim of violence at school and just about anywhere else.
When I realized that, something clicked
inside of me. The last of my fears about using my voice dropped away.
I realized I could not let her be
victimized, too, simply for being who she is. I know what that feels like, and
as her mother, I can't let that happen. History
will not repeat itself under my watch.
This has led me down a path of championing
human rights causes alongside my child and an entire community that appreciates
strong allies. Honestly, I don't know if I could have done this with as much
passion if I didn't have my own experiences to draw on.
So thank you, Teenage Self, for hanging in
there. I know it wasn't easy. There were so many times you could have given up
entirely, and you always seemed to find that last ounce of strength to keep
going.
I will be the strong person you needed back then. I promise.
 |
| PS: Crimp perm. Sigh. |