When the unrelenting hands of time finally contended that I was thirteen years old (everyone's peak age, I'm sure), I unknowingly changed. In the years after my thirteenth birthday, I messily and embarrassingly developed my identity. It was not pretty, but it was vital and, sometimes, even a little fun.

To prove that we all have our moments, I have compiled a list of actual things that I did while growing up that are objectively "cringe-worthy". Worse yet, I am here to feed them to the merciless mouth of the Internet.

At 13, I giggled about the most nonsensical but delicious fanfictions, making fun of them with classmates during the day and spending the nights reading them by myself.

At 14, I scoffed at lines frequently used by Southern politicians and listened to angry and explicit music to get back at "the man".

All during junior high and high school, I joined new clubs, very few of which I had any actual talent in. (But, hey – I'm a trier).

At 15, I stumbled over flirting with the opposite sex, sweaty hands and crippling self-consciousness in tote.

At 16, I slathered on drug-store makeup and graciously did the same to my friends' poor faces.

Most of all, these teenage years represented the time when it truly hit me that the concepts of our world are intricate and gripping. I traveled through the thickets of an unfamiliar moral gray area. This awareness felt like a ton of bricks on my doughy heart.

The catch is, I didn't really embrace the opportunity of experiencing all of that for the first time.

In fact, I tried to poke fun at dumb teenagers, then realized with a breath-holding unease that I too, am a dumb teenager, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. I tried to appear special and mature, like "I wasn't like most of my peers"; I was basically an adult with acne. My façade of sensibleness hinged on that I was somehow removed from the awkward, reckless, and raw lifestyle of kids these days. In reality, I was submerged in the middle of it.

Upon reflection, I see that choosing not to be unapologetically youthful is one of my longest-lasting mistakes.

So, fall in love with boyband members. Cry about being misunderstood. Play sports that you are God-awful at. Fumble around with conversation and your house keys on a first date. Cram a jet-black eyeliner too close to your actual iris. Passionately debate politics to figure out what you believe. Cackle until your stomach hurts with your pals. Cradle your sore ego and mope around with a blanket after a heartbreak. Don't look back at your unadulterated angst or your naive hope and groan in humiliation.

This is how you learn. This is how you become who you will be. Vulnerably, you feel the highs and the lows right in your gut, with no walls of cynicism to soften the blow.

I have come a long way from my tabula rasa state. As I am in my final year of being a (semi)tumultuous teenager, I want to convince you that it is the utmost privilege to feel anything as chaotically as you did when you were young. Now, go be the protagonist in your own coming-of-age tale.