Eighth Grade

Last week I saw a trailer for Eighth Grade. Because I have 2 daughters between 8th Grade, it piqued my interest. My husband and I made plans to take the girls this past Saturday. My youngest got invited to go rollerskating with her girlfriend, however, so we went without her. She has the tendency to be anti-social so whenever she is interested in hanging out with other kids her age we're like:
                     

So my husband and I took our oldest who was so excited. "I love when I get you guys all to myself!" hahaha. Our youngest is the same way. They both love one-on-one time.

We got some popcorn and Twizzlers and sat down to watch the movie. It follows an 8th grade girl in a week of her life and highlights her struggles and the interactions with her peers and father. Having been an 8th grade girl and having parented an 8th grade girl, this movie hit me right in the feels. The whole movie I was like:
                        
Man, being a young teenager is HARD and holy crap, parenting a young teenager is SOOOOOO HARD. Talk about being emotionally raw.

After the movie I asked my daughter if she felt like it was an accurate representation of what it was like to be in 8th grade. "Totally but I feel like that was like my 7th grade year. Eighth grade was better for me." She's right. She had a better year this year - I wasn't sure ANY of us were going to survive her 7th grade year. I shudder just thinking about it. I have PTSD.

For myself personally, 8th grade was the WORST year. BY FAR. In our school district, elementary school was K5-7, then high school was 8-9 and senior high school was 10-12. So, I started a new school in 8th grade. It felt more like a prison then a school, the walls were grey and there was 4 times the number of kids that had come from local feeder schools.

I remember feeling like I was the biggest loser ever. I hated everything. Everything was all wrong. I had all the wrong clothes, I got braces that year and my mouth full of metal did not boost my self-esteem. I remember feeling like I was stupid. I had to try SO HARD in school and everyone else seemed to get good grades effortlessly. I felt like I had no real talents and I thought I was so socially awkward. Why did I have to be so weird? Why couldn't I just be normal like everyone else?

In homeroom they would pass out lunch tickets to the kids who got free and reduced lunch and I remember being MORTIFIED that everyone knew I got reduced lunch. When you are in elementary school, every one is too busy picking their nose to notice but not in 8th grade. I loved boys that would't even look at me. I'd sit and scribble their names on my notebooks and daydream about kissing them in the stairwell. I hated my parents. I thought they were terrible people and I was pretty sure they didn't love me at all. I was so uncomfortable in my own skin.

I desperately wanted bigger boobs. So BAD. I would pray to God at night, "Dear God. If you could just help me out and make my boobs grow, I would like-REALLY appreciate it." hahahaha. I think I asked my mom for a padded bra and she shot me down. *KNIFE IN THE HEART*

My classmates were different all of a sudden. Kids that I'd gone to school with for years were suddenly like strangers to me. Everything became weirdly sexual. I didn't feel like I fit in with anyone. I felt alone in the world.

Multiple times a week, I would cry in school. Always between lunch and choir. I remember holding it in all day and then after lunch, I would climb the stairs and walk straight to the school psychologist's office (did he have open office hours?) and I would collapse in a chair and I would ugly cry. I remember the 4 walls of his closet-like office so vividly, I spent so much time there. Like, I would cry so hard it raked my body. Rivers and rivers of tears and then I would vomit all my my problems to him, he would give me a pep-talk about how to make it through the day, and then would write me a pass to choir. Bless that man - I think about him often. He must have worried about me like crazy.

If only things could be different. I fantasized about a different life. I'd come into school with a $40 Delia's dress or a pair of JNCO jeans and platform sneakers. I'd be wearing my padded bra and body glitter. I'd have perfect make-up - metallic eyeshadow, Bonnebell lip gloss, and a choker. I'd smell like Clinque Happy and cucumber melon lotion from Bath and Bodyworks. I wouldn't have to study and I'd still get straight A's. The boy I liked would take notice and he would kiss me in the back stairwell and I'd get invited to all the parties because everyone would think I was the coolest. They wouldn't think I was weird.

But I wasn't that girl. I was just a metal-mouthed, flat-chested girl in Value City jeans, holding a reduced lunch ticket with a B- in Pre-Algebra, who was awkward and just trying to get through the day without slitting my wrists.

Interestingly, I have a scrapbook that I made in 8th grade. I discovered it in my father's garage a few years ago and it is a glimpse into my life at that time.

I saved some of my reduced lunch tickets. I'm telling you- they made an impact on me.

There is a decoupaged notebook page. Courtney Love, Beck, Alanis, Daria- doesn't get more 90's than this.

There were pictures that I drew:

This is a picture I drew of myself with some skinny-ass 90's eyebrows

And this duck with sexy eyes

And this picture of a teacher that I hated. Proof that indeed, all 8th graders are assholes. 

There are letters from friends, and some suggestive ones from boys. *Whoa*

There is an earring that I loved:

Clippings that I found amusing:

Quotes that I found relevant to my 8th grade self:

Then there are some things that make me sad. Like this comic strip I saved:

And this card from my mother who obviously knew I was struggling:

It was funny when I rediscovered this book when I was 28 or 29. Because I had all these terrible memories from that time but it was really all in my head. I was a pretty girl, I was smart, I had talents, I had friends, my parents did actually love me. I was definitely weird but not in a bad way. In a way that made me funny and interesting. 

THAT is the hardest part about kids this age. As adults we can see the beauty and the talent and potential in them but THEY can't always see it. 

I really feel bad for the kids today because the technology makes things worse. How hard it is to see pictures on social media of parties that you're not invited to, or pictures of your crush someone else, or being anonymously bullied or the pressure to look like a Snapchat filter in real life. It's a lot of pressure. 

I wish I had answers about how to make this time easier. Lots of praying and just moving forward. Time and experience are the only cures for adolescence. 

Our household will do eighth grade all over again in just a year...and we'll get through it again. We'll bask in all of it's beautiful awkwardness.