Dear Teenage Self: Thanks for Never Giving Up

January 12, 2016 The Maven

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.

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.