The other day, I received a message from my daughter while she was at a sleepover with her friends.
“It’s so frustrating when it seems like everything your friend does is better than you,” she texted.
I replied, “Absolutely.”
She continued, “She can do all this stuff, has money for whatever she wants, and is involved in all these activities because of it. I just feel like the broke girl with divorced parents.”
My heart sank reading that. I know that feeling all too well.
I texted back, “I understand. It’s not easy. Honestly, I don’t like being the broke divorced mom, either. I wish things were different. Just try to focus on what you DO have, like a loving brother.”
She responded, “Yeah, but it’s hard for me. When we talk, it’s always about horseback riding, her national gymnastics team, and her beach house, etc.”
I replied, “Try not to compare. I feel miserable when I do that.”
Her frustration poured through the screen: “BUT SHE WON’T STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!”
Yes, she really did text that.
I encouraged her, “Talk about your singing, your writing, your stories, your great grades. You shine from the inside out. If she won’t stop bragging, maybe she needs to hear herself.”
She shot back, “She has amazing grades, thinks she’s a great writer, and has married parents. What more could she want?”
I quipped, “Apparently some humility.”
Right?
She wrote, “If my self-esteem were any lower, it would be 20,000 leagues under the sea.”
I put my phone down, reminiscing about the dynamics of teenage friendships. The drama, the trust issues, the exclusion. Who’s “in” today and who’s “out” — it’s all part of their struggle for control. While boys might clash physically, girls often leave each other on the sidelines.
Before long, my daughter returned home, and she started to talk. At first, it was slow, but soon the floodgates opened.
“We were skating, and ‘L’ and ‘K’ were always together, holding hands. Every time I tried to join in, they’d skate away or say, ‘It’s too hard to skate in threes.’ It kept happening, and they acted like I was imagining it!”
Tears streamed down her face as she continued, “They kept asking, ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I felt completely alone. It was awful!”
I wrapped her in a hug, her black eyeliner running down her cheeks. I gently stroked her hair.
She added, “And ‘L’ thinks she’s the best at everything. It makes me sick!”
Now the tears were flowing freely. I held back my own urge to unleash some mama bear instincts.
“That sounds really tough, sweetie. It reminds me of my own childhood. Girls would leave each other out and write mean things on bathroom walls…”
“They still do that!” she interrupted.
“I believe it,” I said.
After a moment, she said, “On the train, they kept walking away from me. They would stay in one spot, and as soon as I approached, they’d move!”
I replied, “That’s rough! But you know, this kind of behavior isn’t really about you. You’re just their convenient target for power.”
I felt her pain deeply. I wished I could fix everything, but I knew I couldn’t.
As she cried in my arms, we talked about what it means to grow up as a girl, the trials of friendships, and the infamous mean girl phenomenon. Soon enough, she was wiping her tears and cracking jokes about her Goth eyeliner.
Eventually, she got up to carry on with her evening, and I sat there reflecting. I hoped I had been a good listener. While I know there are two sides to every story, I wanted to tell her to steer clear of those two girls forever.
This experience will leave its mark on her, and I hope it’s a lesson learned.