By Natha Perkins
When I drop my daughter off for school, she looks around and takes a deep breath before she opens the door, as if to fortify herself for what’s coming. She’s in 7th grade and I remember my own time served in the 7th grade was a small version of hell. Some days she comes home excited and full of stories, brimming with almost child like enthusiasm and other days she gets in the car with an air of defeat. “Mom, guess what someone said to me today?” And I take a deep breath, my stomach knotting up bracing for what’s to come.
I remember this. The insecurity. The deep pain of feeling like I was doing it all wrong. Watching kids who knew what to do and say, kids who were cool. I wasn’t one of those kids, I was shy and quiet. I would get invited to some of the parties the popular kids threw but I would rarely go, because the anxiety was simply too much for me. If I went, who would I talk to? What if no one talked to me? What if a boy tried to talk to me? I see the same things with my daughter. She wants new friends but hesitates to go out and find them. When someone compliments her on social media, she’s thrilled, but would never use it as gateway into something more. She’s easily and deeply affected by the smallest comments the boys make to her at school. I watch her whip out her theoretic measuring stick and hold herself up against it, basing her worth on the things they say to her. I see her determining whether she’s falling short in the cool department. Continue Reading…
