By: Elizabeth Broadbent
Updated: Feb. 26, 2021
Originally Published: Feb. 26, 2021
My closest friend insists that I had the capacity for kindness. He claims I always lent a hand to those who sought help. And while I did have my moments of compassion in college, I was also a prime example of a mean girl. I was a true bully—not just a follower, but a ruthless Queen Bee who thrived on creating drama and publicly tearing others down. I made jokes at the expense of others, and I deeply regret every moment of it.
Sure, there were times I was kind. But I also wielded my sharp tongue like a weapon, backed by friends who encouraged my behavior. When a former prom queen asked me, in front of a crowd, if I had picked up my accent at the duty-free shop in Heathrow, I could feel the shame wash over me. My husband once remarked, “He probably still thinks about that at night.” That realization hit hard. Yes, it was funny, but it came at the cost of someone’s dignity and self-worth—especially since that person was already facing significant struggles.
I Bullied for Attention
I craved attention and validation. One of the simplest ways to achieve that was by targeting easy victims. A former beauty queen who became known for her reckless behavior was one of the easiest targets. I gleefully spread rumors about her, relishing the laughs at her expense. Instead of offering her support, I chose to drag her down and make her the butt of my jokes. I think she ultimately dropped out. I could have been a source of help, but instead, I used her struggles to elevate my own social status.
My best friend pointed out that I often targeted those I perceived as threats to my attention. This included a guy who wore a quirky bunny suit and a fellow who had a crush on me. I’d create a scene by hiding under my bed whenever I heard him approaching. Why? Because I reveled in the laughter that followed.
The Isolation of Being Mean
The laughter was never directed at me. I transformed from a high school outcast to the mean girl everyone recognized. Yet, deep down, those old insecurities lingered. If I could deflect attention onto someone else, I wouldn’t have to worry about being targeted in return. By mocking the beauty queen, I could distract from my own questionable choices. I could bully the boy who loved punk music while hiding my own feelings for him.
I remember vividly a gay freshman who walked into our dorm seeking friendship. Our reputation was that we were welcoming, but he made a grave error by boasting about his wealthy background. I, having grown up around affluence, decided to toy with him, leading him into a trap of embarrassment while my friends laughed. It took him an hour to realize he was being played, and he left feeling humiliated. I could have befriended him, offering genuine connection instead of cheap laughs.
Acknowledging the Hurt I Caused
The truth is, I acted out of fear—fear that others would see my flaws and dislike me. I used my wit and my friends to deflect attention from my own insecurities. I could have reached out to that beauty queen or even been kind to the boy who wore the bunny suit. I should have chosen empathy over cruelty. My struggles do not excuse the pain I inflicted on others. It haunts me to think that my careless remarks may have caused significant harm.
To those who crossed paths with me in college—I hope you can sense my remorse. I’ve grown since those days, and I’m genuinely sorry for the way I behaved. While my apology may not change the past, I offer it sincerely, hoping it might bring some healing. I might not recall the good times we shared, but the moments I was unkind are seared in my memory. I am truly sorry.
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