Recently I found out that a friend of mine had some opinions about me and for some reason felt she needed to bring them up with everyone but me. Although, I am truly flattered that she chooses myself to be the topic of her conversation, I can't help but revert back to the days of my 7th grade year in Jr. High.7th grade was the most difficult year of my life. I was a young adolescent on the verge of womanhood, which in itself is awkward enough. To make matters worse, I was ostracized from the in crowd. I could never quite fit in with the popular group. There was a group of girls who made my life horrible. From 7:30am-3pm, Monday-Friday, September-June, I was teased and tormented. They made fun of my multi-colored glasses frames, which I had gotten brand new that summer and was so excited to show off throughout the school year. They teased me for wearing the same pair of jeans on a Monday that I had worn the Friday before. They even went as far as to convince the boys that liked me, not to like me. What made matters worse was that my best friend throughout all of elementary school was right along with them, micromanaging my lameness. These girls were watching my every move to ensure that I never climbed the “popular ladder.” I never understood why they chose me to pick on, why they hated me so. I suppose I was an easy target, vulnerable and exposed. Slowly realizing that being me wasn’t cool…or cool enough. So I ask again, why was I the subject of such cruelty? Girls are wicked, especially at that age-so as an adult I have to ask myself what I learned from that experience.
Several things actually, and it took me many years to realize the life lesson that was to be applied to my adult life. If these pubescent girls and now co-workers have nothing better to talk about than me, isn’t their own life somewhat boring? If they are paying attention to what I wear, when I wear it, who I talk to, and how I talk to them…doesn’t that mean they don’t have enough to do? I mean, is it jealousy? Sometimes, I suppose. Maybe those girls were jealous that I had amazing breasts at the age of 14, or that boys did like me (probably for said breasts).
In my professional life now, I have to assume that the only reason my friend would see any reason to gossip my name in conversation is that she is threatened by me somehow, why I am not sure. Possibly because I am younger, I have a cuter boyfriend who is more successful than her boyfriend, my dog Bitsy is more amazing than her dog, I am more educated and better at my job, obviously more humbleJ, and according to her ugly tattoos it seems that I haven’t made the same poor decisions as she in her younger years. Just to name a few…
I truly harbor no ill feelings towards any of my offenders; it only makes me realize that when I am the subject of someone’s gossip-I wish I could be there listening to the conversation as it must be a fascinating. We can’t escape it, wherever we are. Recently I was at a wedding and one of the guests had the audacity to trash talk the bride at the reception-whom she has only met once! This gossip coming from a woman who was 30 years my senior!
So it never ends? Are we destined to talk negatively about each other until we are in an Assisted Living complex playing bridge with bosom buddies? And even then, when all friends are dead and gone, do the plants in the apartment get the privilege of hearing what Suzie in 5A did that weekend?