Mean Girl Moment.

The time was the late summer of 2011 and it was my first day of classes at our local community college. I had only recently graduated high school and, to be honest, I was only enrolled in college to avoid paying my parents rent.

I was not wild about school. I didn’t have many passions – none of which I cared to make a career out of, and the act of going every day, seemed nothing less of a chore. I don’t remember my major at the time, considering I had changed it so many different times, but I was enrolled in all your basic courses, at the very least.

One of these classes was a general math class. While I didn’t necessarily want to be there, I knew I had to at least try to prove to my parents I had the potential to make something out of my life.

On the first day, I chose a seat in the mid-back of the classroom. Just close enough to hear the professor and just far enough away so that I could sneak in and out without causing a major disruption. A few moments after taking my seat a friendly voice came up beside me,

“Is anyone sitting here?”

“Nope, all yours!” I replied.

She had the brightest smile I had ever seen and long brown hair that was perfectly pulled together in a bun. I could tell she was a new student, just as I was, and we quickly started chatting about how our first day was going.

We immediately bonded over the woes of being in a new place, getting lost on campus and what the food options were. After a couple minutes of chatting, our professor stood up and class begun.

Over the next couple of weeks, her and I had begun to develop a friendship. We would frequently text and shared many interests and qualities. Math class became my social hour where her and I would chat about our love lives, our disinterest in our professor, how neither one of us was great at math and the work being asked of us seemed far too complicated.

One day during my lunch break, I sat in the dining hall with a different friend whom I had known since middle school. Her and I sat there catching up, getting lost in the conversation and she began to vent about one of her classmates who was a frequent disruption.

One thing to note about me at that time of my life was that I was very insecure. I craved fitting in the way that an addict needs their drug. So, I chimed in…

And, I’ll never forget my exact words…

“Ugh, I know how you feel. I sit next to this girl in my math class who is always yapping on and on about her boyfriend and a bunch of other shit I literally just don’t care about. It’s hard enough I can’t understand what the professor is saying with his thick accent.”

The second the final word left my lips, I felt a gaze.

I sharply looked my left and there she was. The girl I sit next to in math class.

Her face was as red as a ripe tomato and her eyes like daggers. I knew I was in the wrong, but I foolishly tried to save myself.

“Hi!” I exclaimed at her. Hoping my overly friendly tone would trick her into thinking I wasn’t talking badly about HER.

Her face didn’t budge. Her eyes didn’t blink.

Without saying a word, she packed up her half-eaten lunch and whatever book she was reading and quickly walked away.

I never spoke to her again. Understandably so, from that day forward, she avoided me on campus at every cost; not even so much as a glance in my direction.

I often think about that moment in the dining hall and what happened next for her. Did she run to her car and cry? Does my voice echo through her brain every time she makes a new friend? Did my words leave a lasting mark?

That was not the last time I hurt someone in life, but I know it was a moment that, to this day, gives me that singe of guilt right to my gut. I could have just let my middle school friend have her moment of discomfort and offered a listening ear. I could have spoken about something truthful to fulfill my need to relate.

That day, I selfishly chose to be unkind for petty gain. In the moment, I believed it was a victimless crime. In the moment, I just wanted to feel good about myself by taking someone else down. I will forever hold the much-deserved title of a mean girl in her story. Not a badge I wear proudly, but a badge I earned that day.

Words have just as much power to build someone up as they do to tear them down. Choose kindness, always.