A Sincere Apology To The Girl I Bullied

In general, people refer to me as a nice girl.

I’m the one who lets everyone else speak first. Who’s genuinly happy for others’ success. Who generously offers a compliment or two to family, friends and strangers alike.

So here’s my secret:

For the longest time, I was a bully.

I’ve long had a love-hate relationship with a girl I grew up with, the scale more often than not pointing to the ‘hate’ side.

While I was understanding and compassionate towards most of my friends, I was mean to her — regardless of what she said or didn’t say, did or didn’t do.

I called her names when nobody was listening, mocked her when nobody was looking.

When I overheard a boy in the 9th grade saying she was ugly, I didn’t hesitate to pass on the gossip.

Standing in front of her, I repeated those 3 exact words, which wiped the innocent smile covered with braces and rubber bands from her pimpled, 15-year-old face. (Mind you, this boy wasn’t exactly Mother Nature’s finest creature either.)

I frequently reminded her of those words.

I whispered them when she proudly wore a new outfit to school in an attempt to upgrade her fashion game. I scribbled them on a note when she held a presentation she had put hours of work into. I slid them in the look I gave her when she shyly arrived at her first prom.

When she went to university, I warned her not to get her expectations too high.

While her fellow students dove into social gatherings and strangers’ beds, I urged her to stay at her desk. Pulling all nighters behind her books would be the only way for her to achieve success.

When she applied for a job and asked me to check her preparation, instead of cheering her on, I focused on the parts she could have improved.

When she landed a contract, I assigned it to pure ‘luck’.

When she left a toxic, verbally abusive relationship, I didn’t wrap my arms around her. Instead, I blamed and shamed her for her bad judgement. I wondered what she had done wrong.

I didn’t support her while she tried to mend the pieces of a shattered soul.

When we went out and she asked if she looked pretty enough after spending two hours dressing up, I didn’t even blink before saying no. I compared her to every single woman in the room that was more beautiful than her.

I told her nobody would fully love her for who she was or what she looked like.

To the girl in the mirror: I’m sorry.

You and I, we’ve come a long way. These past years, we’ve spent much alone time together — we’ve talked, analyzed, digged deep, sat in silence, healed.

When I look at you now, I do so with softer eyes. I smile at how you dance to the silliest songs when nobody is watching; how you strive to be the kind of friend others can lean on; how you’re no longer apologizing for the person you are and the things you value.

I’ll forever be your biggest critic, but I promise I’ll always try to be your friend first.

Closing off with the 3 words that have long seemed lost, but now cross my lips coming from a place of light and pride:

I love you.

— Me