Earlier this week, I opened my phone to find a flood of notifications atop my Facebook app. A college buddy liked my throwback photos. An uncle shared another political meme. Someone uploaded an adorable puppy video. And then—wow—Morgan Anderson sent me a friend request.
My palms felt sweaty as I realized that, at 32, I was still susceptible to the familiar anxieties triggered by that high school mean girl. It was unbelievable; even after years of self-improvement, a single notification could send me spiraling back to my teenage insecurities.
Suddenly, I was transported to the cafeteria, desperately seeking a table far removed from the girls who made my life unbearable. And there she was: Morgan. She looked exactly the same, her profile picture seemingly pulled straight from our senior yearbook—except now she had a cute little girl wrapped around her legs.
Curiosity got the best of me, so I clicked on her profile. What had this person been up to for the last 15 years? It seemed Morgan had graduated from business school, married her college sweetheart, and now had a beautiful family. Her posts indicated she was thriving in her career as a community advocate. Talk about karma treating her well.
I hovered over the “reject” button for a moment. How satisfying would it be to deny this girl who had spent so much time making me feel small? It wouldn’t erase the pain of those four years, but oh, how tempting it was to serve a slice of justice.
But then reality hit me. I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, and the thought of dishing out a dose of karma was exhilarating. Yet, as I scrolled through her happy family photos, I recalled a night during college when I had a heart-to-heart with another mean girl—let’s call her Kate.
Kate and I were as different as night and day. While I brought music to parties, she brought chaos. She was the queen bee, and everyone knew it. Yet, one evening she broke down in tears on a porch at a party, and I found myself sitting beside her.
As we discussed her troubled past—filled with neglect and isolation—I learned that her meanness was a defense mechanism. She shared how her hurt had manifested as anger and disdain towards others. In that moment, I didn’t walk away with a new friend, but rather a newfound empathy for those who had caused me pain.
Fast forward to this week. When I saw Morgan’s friend request, I remembered that lesson. Everyone has their struggles, and mean girls aren’t made of stone; they carry their own burdens.
I’m now a wife and mother, surrounded by love and laughter. I realized that I didn’t want to hold onto bitterness or anger. So, rather than ignoring her request, I clicked “accept.” A small gesture of forgiveness.
And let me tell you, it felt liberating. I sent a virtual hug to my former tormentor, reminding myself that we all have our journeys.
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In summary, when faced with the unexpected friend request from an old high school bully, I chose forgiveness over resentment. This experience reminded me that behind every mean exterior might lie a story of pain and vulnerability.