Raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by Target’s clothing section?

 

The summer between 7^th and 8^th grade, I was in summer musical production called “Broadway Bound: II”. If you’ve met me in real life, you might know that this was (and is) like a dream come true for me. Singing and dancing the same songs all day everyday? Serious #lifegoals

I have no idea how I pulled this off. Rehearsals were daily and across town. I didn’t drive and I’m sure my dad was working and couldn’t drive me. Nonetheless, I did it. It was one of the first times in my life, I’d ventured out into the extracurricular world. It was my first shot at controlling my own destiny. Anyway….

I remember sitting in the Bradford auditorium and talking with some high school girls in the show. I can’t remember what we were talking about. Likely, I was an interloper because I definitely wasn’t a #coolkid. But what I remember is this:

One of other girls to the group: “So and so” is so pretty!

Me, to the group: Girls don’t give other girls compliments.

One of the other girls to me: Yes, they do.

Me: ::nothing to say::

GUYSSSSS!!!! I was a mean girl. I was a 12 year old who believed that saying something nice to another girl was impermissible. So impermissible, in fact, that I needed to intercede when I saw it happening in my presence. I have no idea why I believed this, but I do know that up until that moment, I believed  it wholeheartedly and without hesitation.

I know I believed it because it wasn’t the first time I’d been a mean girl. In 5^th grade, I remember leading a group of girls in a witch-hunt. We followed another girl (who I DEFINITELY still owe an apology) home and harassed her by calling her horrible names, which I cannot even bring myself to publish here. Suffice to say, it would hurt my mommy-heart to hear my children say the things we said on that day.

Why were we doing this? Well, because she was “dating” a boy we all liked and that wasn’t okay. How dare she!

I don’t know why I acted this way. I can’t put my finger on why I felt this animosity towards other girls. I’ve always been fairly empathetic and compassionate towards people and animals alike- particularly when I feel they’re suffering.

I don’t ever remember being explicitly told that my worth would be negatively affected by acknowledging another girl’s worth. But it was intrinsic to me. Maybe it was because I was fiercely competitive? Maybe it was immaturity or a jealous nature. Maybe it was my way of coping with my parent’s divorce and the loss of maternal direction.

Whatever the underlying motivation was, it was mean. I was a mean girl.

I’d like to believe that I stopped being a mean girl in that summer between 7^th and 8^th grade. I’d like to believe this conversation was an epiphany for me. But that’s probably not true. However, I do believe it was a catalyst- a strong suggestion I would grow into as I matured over time.

Unfortunately, jealousy and competition would follow me well into my adult years. I’m not going to lie- they still rear their ugly heads from time to time. But I’m thankful that I can now recognize the feeling, settle in to my own self-worth, and let that negativity go.

This growth is largely a result of my relationships with other women. In fact, I believe that my relationships with other women are a cornerstone of my self-worth.

Some people say they married their “best friend.” I think that’s great. I really do. But I didn’t. Sorry, Joel. My husband’s another very important cornerstone, but he’s not my best friend. To call him that would not only be inaccurate but it would also underestimate the power and privilege my girl squad enjoys in my world.

My squad doesn’t ride inflatable swans in their high-cut one piece swimsuits ala TSwift’s tribe. In fact, most of them only really exist via text or social media where we ask each other where we can find affordable swimwear to put on our newly-coined mom bods so we can comfortably take our monsters to “mommy and me” swim class.

Sometimes I see them- like at one of our kids’ birthday parties or at library storytime. Friendship isn’t what it was in our early (or mid) 20’s. We don’t go out to the bar. If we’re awake past 9pm, it’s most certainly because we’re watching Game of Thrones, Homeland, or ::insert other adulty-obsession show::. Still, my squad is second to none- not even Tay’s!

Case in point, I tried to talk to Joel about something this morning. First, “talk to Joel” and “morning” are usually a bad combination. Any vertical conversation we have before I’ve had coffee and bacon is likely to end in friendly fire. Fortunately, our schedules usually observe this universal truth.

But today, Vivienne had preschool orientation which caused us to interact at a time when no interaction ought to exist. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t an argument. It was a conversation that didn’t belong in martial jurisdiction. It was a conversation about me being nervous for Vivi to start school and be with people we didn’t really know for the first time. It was a topic about feelings that my husband, as much as he loves me and Vivi both, does not and cannot completely understand.

Upon realizing that I’d filed by summons and complaint in the wrong jurisdiction, I dismissed my case sua sponte and informed your honor (Joel) that I’d be re-filing with a court of proper jurisdiction- in Girl Squad County.

I promptly texted two girlfriends who also have three year olds. They told me in short order that Vivi would probably do just fine and begin leading the class in no time! And I believed them. I believed them because they had legitimacy. They get it. They know Vivi. They get me. They get me in a way that Joel just can’t and shouldn’t get me. (Because if we were both crazy moms, then what???)

These girls, amongst a number of others, are integral to my success and mental health. They listen to my (often irrational) mommy concerns, support my crazy personal (learning to hula hoop) and professional (painting my office peach- Joel would call it pink) aspirations. They build me up when my own mind might try to tear me down. They encourage me to be a better person. Many of them have known me for decades (looking at you, AMZ) and have transformed into exactly what I needed when I needed it.

Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your game. Sometimes you have questions that don’t need answered. When I need a solution to a concrete problem, I can always count on Joel. But sometimes I don’t need an answer. Sometimes I need someone to tease out the question with me. Sometimes, I need someone to listen to my list of pros and cons for a fourth child. Sometimes I need a reminder that Pizza Hut dippin’ strips are not conducive with my fitness goals. Sometimes I need reassurance that my feelings and opinions are normal and okay “crazy mom” feelings and opinions.

For all of that, I owe them nothing less than the same. It is my job to build them up, encourage their dreams, listen to their (sometimes irrational) worries, and boost their egos every chance I get. They make me a better person and they couldn’t possibly do that unless they were amazing people themselves.

All that being said, I still can’t shake my previous mean girl status. I shudder at the thought of my girls being mean girls themselves someday. I’m not sure what I can do to prevent this. I can’t follow them around and make sure they don’t stalk some poor grade school friend home.

But here’s what I can control: the way I talk to and about women.

What I often see is that women can be other women’s worst critics. I hear women complain about other women taking too much time to pump breast milk at work; I hear women comment on other women not even trying to breastfeed. I hear women judge other women’s character (not fashion sense) for their choice of shoes, blouses, or dresses. I hear women make excuses for why other women are treated unfairly by a boss, colleague or client. (“Well, if she hadn’t worn that, said that, believed that, done that….”)

I see female leaders refusing to mentor and advise their younger counterparts.

I hear women tearing other women down instead of building them up. Guess what, friends? We’re only as strong as our weakest link. If we keep wearing away at the fabric that holds us together and makes us strong, we all fall down. All of us.

How can we expect society to be empathetic and understand our unique female plight if we (those most familiar with it) are critical of the way each of us cope with it? How can we convince an employer of a woman’s unique value when we criticize her taking time off to have a baby? (This just in: our very survival as a species relies upon this “business inconvenience” See generally: Survival)

Another woman’s choice is not an attack on your different choice. Sally stays home with her only child, practices attachment parenting, and makes all her own baby food? Great! Jane chooses to work part time, dabble in Pinterest, and sends her four kids to daycare? Awesome. Greta decided not to have kids at all and travels with her partner to exotic locales? Perfect! Teresa is single and dates whomever she wants whenever she wants? I love it! We are stronger for our diversity, not weaker. It makes us better. (Stanford says so!)

If we can embrace that idea and celebrate our differences, might we raise a generation of… nice girls? Might we raise a generation of girls that not only love themselves  but also love and appreciate the value of their squads?

I think so. And that’s why, on Wednesdays (and all days) we celebrate our girl squad.

This morning, before I even told Joel I was going to take my preschool mom concerns to my squad, he knew. He said: “You’re only going to ask one of them? I figured you’d ask about ten of them!”

He told me to ask the “craziest” mom. Joke’s on him- I’m the craziest mom I know!