Being a girl is hard, but being a girl in middle school is absolute hell. No one point has been more universally agreed upon, I’m sure (except maybe that Queen Bey and Jay-Z ought to be the next ruling monarchs of this country). Yet, despite the safety of our consensual distaste for pre-pubescence, no one dares dredge up the scarring memories — those that Freud would avidly affirm we have been systematically and subconsciously repressing for the past five to ten years. We just let them fester within ourselves, until we rot from the inside out. Or something to that effect. But maybe a better way to address the gnawing feeling in our guts, and the nightmare-filled, sleepless nights spent reminiscing these horrors, is to communally make light of them, and pass on our wisdom. So to those of you whom it make concern, here are a few pieces of advice from someone who has lived through the trauma:
- Hot pink ankle-length sweatpants with the word “Princess” running down the left leg, and a gold macramé short-sleeved (over?) shirt do not match.
- When Queen Bee Katie P. tells you that she will be your friend only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that the rest of the week you must play her dog in games of house at recess, you are not “in.”
- Your crush will never understand that your vague and angsty Gmail chat status is about him.
- Having all four of your stay-at-home-moms-turned-Brownie-leaders simultaneously quit the year before you finally graduate to Cadet status does not mean that your chances of becoming the first female president are destroyed.
- Cursing is not like drinking “cool juice,” but it also won’t send you to hell.
- High school is not going to be just like Mean Girls and you will not be Cady Herron.
- Dreamy-eyed, male model equivalent Zack H., now well on his way to going bald, was not, in fact, a model (and he and that hoe Katie were meant for each other).
- Raccoon black eyeliner on the daily is not a necessity of life.
- You don’t have to work up a sweat power-walking down the hallway to avoid bystanders, whose piercing glares threaten to incinerate you as they laugh at your friendlessness, because being alone is cool sometimes.
- Don’t go to dances. Or do. Dates are not a prerequisite, because adolescent boys are mad lame.
- The Black Eyed Peas are sad excuses for musicians, and Abercrombie & Fitch apparel will never fit you because it’s not made for wear by real humans.
- If you can’t find a single other female in a 50-foot radius, your body will not forget how to pee.
- You will get prettier. Plus, boobs.
After reading back over my list, I can only begin to imagine the degree of agony I could have been spared had some kind, older Oprah-Winfrey-type soul imparted these invaluable bits of advice on my impressionable, under-developed, brace-faced self so long ago. When you think about it, though, it’s these moments of sheer embarrassment and anguish that separate the weak from the strong, and prepare each of us to become living, breathing, thriving individuals in the world at large. Middle school is the heinous ogre that forces us to rise up to the challenges of mastering personal hygiene, of overcoming peer pressure (just because she was wearing camo pants and flip flops does not mean you have to as well), and learning to recognize the difference between the bitches that will stand on you, and those that will stand next to you. So maybe we ought to be proud of our pre-teen selves, for making it through, and for making us who we are today.
Tbh, I still wear those hot pink princess sweatpants on occasion. But the difference between middle school me and college me is that now I have the confidence to own it.
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