Anyone who knows me personally has probably heard this story before. I feel like it's so important that I share this part of my life with others because so many young girls are going through what I went through 10+ years ago.

I want to start off, however, by clearing up a common misconception. Bullying is not just something that occurs in elementary, middle, or high school; it occurs in the work place as well. The problem with today’s society is that we’re so caught up in the fear of being judged ourselves that we feel the need to judge others as a defense mechanism. Not only is it extremely hypocritical and backwards, but its just plain mean. I think we’re all guilty of judging. However, there is a thin line between being judgmental and being cruel. The minute you cross that line is the minute you become a bully, whether you’re 16 or 60. Although age may often be an acceptable explanation for the way we act, it should never be used as an excuse.

In fact, by definition, a bully is anyone who uses superior words or strength to intimidate someone or make them feel less of themselves. Whether that be leaving someone out, calling someone harsh names, or physically harming someone, they all fall somewhere on the spectrum of bullying.

Being bullied has most definitely helped make me a better person. It has shown me the importance of dignity and taught me the true meaning of self worth. My bullies were my biggest educators. In school, I learned more from them about life than I ever did from any of my teachers. I learned that self worth is not defined by what I wear, what I have, or how I look, but by how I treat others and myself. From my most undignified experiences I gained a great deal of compassion. My peers spit a poison that permeated my vulnerable and delicate fifteen-year-old mind. I was intoxicated with the feeling of belittlement, drunk off of the harsh words and cruel comments from girls my age.

In middle school I valued the idea of popularity. I was convinced that if I could become friends with the most favored group of girls, then all my problems would vanish. They were the pretty, smart, wealthy, and most desired girls at my school. These girls retained a presence that, to me, at the time seemed quintessential and I sought after their acceptance. I was blind to the obvious catty and exclusive nature of their group and I persisted at being their friend until, eventually, I succeeded. I was finally allowed to sit at their lunch table, excluded from the conversation, but still included in the thrill of that particular spot in the lunchroom and the publicity that it was given. Little did I know, I was only allowed in for their entertainment.

I was the explanation for all of their inside jokes and I was completely blind to it. They derided my appearance and personality, making specific observations and suggestions about what needed improvement. I was told my eyebrows were too thick and too masculine and that they should be tweezed; my eyelashes were too long and they should be cut; and that I was prude, had no style, and needed to be more athletic to fit in. Perhaps, it was my naïve and diffident persona that made me such an easy target, but I acted on everything that was said. I was slowly changing my appearance and altering my mannerisms because I believed it would make me cool. It was nailed in my head, the theory that if I were prettier and more promiscuous, then everyone would like me. The more they picked at me, the more I hated myself.

I discovered the mass of the bullying one-day while taking a trip to the bathroom during class. There, on the walls in the back stall, written in fresh black sharpie was a chart. My name was written in a row next to two other girl’s names. Underneath each name were tally marks (I had the most) and above, it read “Biggest Prude @ (name of middle school I attended)”. After a few seconds of contemplation I broke out into tears. It was not the sight of my name and the title that hurt most; it was the tally marks. Thirty-three anonymous lines, all written in different colored ink but monochromatic because of one shared opinion.

Not knowing each person responsible for the tallies is a mystery that still taunts me to this day. As I matured and middle school ended, I never did get over the things those girls said to me. However, I definitely did not feel like I needed to change who I was to please other people anymore. My differences, the things I was relentlessly teased about in school, were quite possibly my best features and I am able to realize that now.

If someone told me four years ago that my life would be the way it is now, I would never have believed them. I go to an amazing college, I have an amazing group of friends, and I work hard to maintain a 4.0 grade point average. That insecure thirteen-year old girl will forever live inside the deepest part of my memory. As I continue to grow and mature, I will use what I have learned from my experiences to help other young girls who may be insecure find confidence.

So, what did I learn from the bullies in grade school? Well, I learned that words have an impact, and more importantly that self worth is only self-defined. No one, and I mean no one, has the power to tell you what you’re worth and what your capable of, only you can do that for yourself. I want every young girl who’s dealing with bullies to know, that girl’s are only as mean as they are because they’re constantly beating each other down, verbally. So ladies, let’s compliment each other more, let’s smile more, and lift each other up. Let’s show our young girl’s what it takes to be the better person because with every compliment and smile comes a more confident young lady.