Dear Daughter:
You recently sent me a post on Facebook that read: “Do your daughters a favor and raise them to be okay with people not liking them.” At first, I was thrilled you included me in your Facebook Village! (Because last time you sent me anything, it was a Psychology Today article about menopause and decreased mental acuity).
But when I read this recent post, I cried.
I cried for you; I cried for the bullied middle school you, and I cried for the bullied high school you.
A century ago, I never experienced this poisonous phenomenon myself, so, the concept was beyond my comprehension, and I often didn’t give you the most effective advice. When the going got tough, your father and I always taught you kids to “kill them with kindness.” I didn’t realize these girls would puncture that bubble of cordialness and go right for your heart.
I feel like I failed you.
When it became unbearable, you begged us to transfer you to another school. I told you that wasn’t an option. My theory was that, in this life you cannot keep relocating yourself out of difficult situations, you needed to learn the skills necessary to deal with these types of personalities … then and now.
I tried to love you through it.
I tried to guide you through it.
I think I may’ve failed you.
Nothing seemed to work. I went against everyone’s advice and spoke to the mothers of these girls. Obviously, because they were raised to believe there would never be any consequences for their repugnant behavior, this approach resulted in nothing but faux-perplexed mothers. They wouldn’t see the bullying as being part of their petty princesses’ pathology and are probably reading this now and not admitting, even in their minds, that it was their daughters who were the worst antagonists.
I feel like I should’ve had a better plan, been a more effective problem-solver, because nothing you did helped your cause; you were kind, you were accommodating, you were smart, and you were pretty. And therein was the crux of this issue. You were a foreigner from a far-off Pennsylvania land, crashing into their well-established sixth grade cult with your bright light. They made it their mission to dull your flame, and finally, to extinguish it altogether.
I want you to know you were not alone in your misery. I shared that with you. For every tear you cried, I cried a thousand. For every hurt feeling that shattered your soul, I ached a million times over. I know you say you have moved on. But a mother never moves on from a child hurt on their watch.
However, I will tell you this:
As horrific as the Mean Girl Chronicles read, as painful and as gut wrenching as they were, you emerged the champion. You never changed or rearranged yourself to fit into their nasty mold. You remained yourself. You developed an impenetrable outer shell that saved you from future pain and you are now my superstar. You exude empathy, integrity and carry sympathy for others as your mantle.
Bullying hurt you and crushed your spirit for a time, but it did not diminish you. I think you now realize not everyone will like you in this life, but as I always tell you: “Not everyone matters.”
I stand in awe of you. Bullies be damned, the world over. But their behavior creates magnificence in their victims.
You can now accomplish anything because you have been through everything. You are my hero and I want to just like you when I grow up.
I love you,
Mom
PS: You were right. Menopause did decrease my mental acuity. Somewhat.
