Rated R for Strong Language

When I was a child, around 6 or 7, I used to torment other kids by calling them names. Names like fat, ugly, and/or stupid were abrasive insults to sling at my less fortunate peers. Vicious rumors could be spread about compulsive picking and eating habits or perpetual bed-wetters. These tidbits of information could destroy a child’s life through grade school and sometimes even beyond.

When I hit middle school the verbal tirade stepped up a notch. While I only ever picked on those that picked on others, it wasn’t uncommon to find me repeatedly punching someone in the face while calling them a slutbitchwhorecunt. As if that wasn’t enough, the rumors became tales of blowjobs behind the bleachers and made up teen pregnancies at the “hands” of the head coach. I was mean, simple-minded, and mean, but only to those I thought deserved it. A judge and jury of my adolescent colleagues; a vindictive Robin Hood, so to speak.

Around the age of 14 I met a group of girls that fascinated me. They believed that words like bitch, whore, slut and so on were base and beneath them. They never called people such names - no - they were much smarter, and intensely more ferocious than that. These girls used sarcasm and wit to put people in their place. They were not opposed to violence, which usually landed in my hands, but they preferred to make you cry with their words rather than my fists. And without fail, they would succeed at tearing apart anyone who crossed their path with ill intentions. They took me in, taught me their ways, and made me one of them.

But as time moved on, as we grew older, we began to realize something. Something that made us step back and rethink our strategy. Why fight at all? Why not remove negative people from our lives? We had a choice on who we allowed into our lives, and who we didn’t. It wasn't a “better than you” choice, it was an “I am not interested in being around people who contribute to my dysfunctional ways”. And our ways were dysfunctional. They were cruel and bitter and childish. They were not who I am or ever wanted to be. They were defensive and offensive behaviors that allowed me to steer clear of the person inside who was so sad and lonely.

By 18 I was in therapy, as were 3 of the women I had been friends with since I was 14. Amazingly, when we focused on whom we were and who we aspired to be, we found that our friendship could remain intact and that less people crossed the street when they saw us walking towards them.
We no longer resolved arguments with grievous banter; we would talk things through and listen to others. That is not to say that I was able to modify my behavior overnight. No, it took years of hard work not to raise a fist or a silver tongue at those who angered me. There are some days, even now, that I have to check my anger.

I am still friends with these women after 20 years. There are times when we talk about the “old days”, not with pleasure mind you, but with remorse and even some shame. We have accepted who we were and who we are today. We are stronger, gentler, and smarter women who use kindness instead of harshness to get through the world. It is a much more pleasant place to be.