I have had a few people tell me that my friends were “so wrong,” or “so mean” to do what they did. I have to stop you right there and say, “No. They weren’t.” They had a legitimate issue with me. I was driving them crazy.
At the most, I will allow that they, being only 15 years old, had not yet learned how to confront someone directly. They based their decision of how to handle my annoying tendencies on their limited life experience.
My friends were wonderful people. And still are! They are all now mothers whom I admire from afar on Facebook, since we have grown apart over the years, as friends often do.
They are trustworthy, kind, loyal, and open people with good hearts. The last words I would ever use to describe any of them would be “mean.” It’s simply not in their character. They tackled a problem the best way they knew how, because I believe they cared about me. That they wanted to shake me out of my slump of whining and complaining about things. And I think they were right to do so.
They only went about it in a way that reflects the natural immaturity inherent in 15-year-olds. I certainly cannot say with any honesty that I would have done differently.
I only wanted to share how I came to realize the impact of that particular incident from my teen years. I never intended to comment on their character.
So, please, when you hold an image of my friends, hold an image of loving, kind, brave individuals. Rather than abandon me, they wanted to wake me up. Who knows? Maybe they had tried to talk to me about it, but I didn’t hear or listen. I prefer to give the benefit of the doubt because my friends had more than earned it by then.
They were the best friends I had at the time, and there are days I miss that little group of girls, and the carefree memories I have of them. They are part of me, even to this day, and I honor their role in my life.
Grace & Peace,