Would you believe I was a bully?
During my sophomore and junior years of high school, I was pretty mean to several of my classmates, particularly a few girls who used to be my friends. I would talk negatively about them to other people, be rude to them in front of others, and even manipulate them. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but that didn’t stop me. I liked how my behavior made me feel: cool, powerful, even unique—like being a mean girl gave me a sense of identity.
Around this time, I began to develop a really good relationship with my mom. When I was younger, we hadn’t often got along. But we became closer when I was in high school, and our relationship meant a lot to me.
Unfortunately, my unkind behavior at school began to affect my mom. When she would volunteer at my siblings’ schools or at my sporting events, some of the other parents wouldn’t talk to her. They knew I was being mean to their kids or their kids’ friends, so they didn’t want to be around my mom.
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