Love Letters to My Past: Sisterhood, Friendships, and Writing

Happy Sunday. Let us reflect on childhood bullies, shall we?

Like a lot of writers, I have always loved telling stories from a young age.

When I was small and learning to write, I would write "newspapers" and roll them up for my grandmother to read. I'd leave it at the door (from the inside) and she would pretend to go get the paper.

This is a memory I treasure and found more influential than I realized.

Someone I loved believed in me and my writing. Even though I was a child, and my stories were arguably silly, made up, or a rip-off of a tv show I just watched, Grandma still acted interested and excited to receive my "news."

When I was around 12 and got my first email address, something along the lines of "dolphinlover2008" or something more embarrassing, I began working on a "newsletter."

My sister and I had a friend, we will call her "Gayle," whose mother (Mrs. G) was a writer.

We took inspiration from seeing our moms read these digital "newsletters" and thought about doing one ourselves but much cooler, obviously.

I'll never forget telling Gayle's mom that I wanted to be a writer just like her while seated at their table. She responded, "well, you'd have to write better than you do now." I was 12.

I look back and see a lot of moments Gayle's mom pit me and my sister against her daughter. I'm not sure what the resentment was about. All three of us girls were homeschooled and spent almost every weekend together, often carpooling to youth group and having sleep overs. At one point we even decided to start a "Rock Sisters" band.

I often sought the approval of others and I guess in some ways, I still do (I mean hello I'm writing on the internet). So as a 12-year-old girl who looked up to writers, I wanted Mrs. G's approval.

I'd share how I got all A's, and she'd counter by saying her Gayle got A's, especially in writing, and that she is going to be a journalist one day. I don't recall Gayle ever talking about becoming a journalist, but her mother thought she would be. I envied the confidence her mother had in her writing.

My mom and dad encouraged my writing, too. I found my very first "manuscript" not long ago in one of my treasure chests. I even had a "book" published through a kids program where you submit art and photos along with your captions and they make it into a "story."

When I was 14, I went on a three-month mission trip to Belize. This trip was in a lot of ways, life changing, but not in the way my parents probably intended. That's a story for another day.

Regardless, I came back home with a new perspective on life and was excited to see my friends again at youth group.

Gayle, however, was no longer my friend. This was news to me. What happened? Did I do something wrong? Rebekah, my sister, didn't know why either, and we sat on the stairs and cried together.

Looking up those stairs, I could see my mom pacing the hallway while on our house phone. She looked irritated but her voice remained polite so I couldn't gauge what it was about. Regardless, I sensed it wasn't good.

"That was Mrs. G. She said you girls were speaking badly about Gayle at youth group and making fun of her brother."

"That's not true!" Rebekah protested.

"We would never do that!" I added.

We honestly, to my recollection, never spoke badly about our best friend. We were hurt and devastated by this accusation. Gayle's mom sent our mom a series of emails basically laying into us, saying my sister and I were bad influences.

My mother knew her children but was also not afraid to scold us if we did something wrong. She asked us point blank what we might have said or done.

I, having just gotten back from a rather traumatic summer experience, could not recall ever speaking badly of my beloved best friend. Neither could Rebekah.

We weren't perfect, but we were kind girls. Especially my sister. I can't think of a single mean thing my younger sister has ever done while children.

I sat there filled with guilt and confusion and over-analyzed everything I could possibly have said.

With hearts broken over our lost friendship, we began feeling like outsiders to our youth group due to this drama we never contributed to and retreated back into our secluded lives.

I later learned from another friend that a girl at youth group had struck up a friendship with Gayle while I was on my trip. She was who supposedly shared all this "gossip" my sister and I had been allegedly committing.

About a year or so after these events, social media became a thing and I could now see what my ex-bestie was up to. I saw all the photos of her and this new best friend and felt a pit in my stomach.

If we were such great friends, how could she believe a lie of a stranger? Perhaps we weren't such great friends after all. Looking back, I think Mrs. G had a lot more play into this because the other girl fit her "mold" better, but I can't prove that.

This was my first lesson of many on friendships and how things can go so wrong so quickly.

In the almost 15 years since this experience, I've lived a lot of life and obviously, moved on. Over the years I've occasionally wondered what my former newsletter co-writer and pretend band mate was up to. Is she a journalist? Is she a writer like her mom? Does she still know all the words to the songs we wrote?

From what I gathered, Gayle is a single-mother living at home and no longer friends with the girl that convinced her to ditch me. I don't know anything beyond that.

Ironically, me and the girl that "stole my friend" are Facebook friends now. We've bonded (via social media) over some other things, but I've never had the guts to ask what happened back when we were 14.

Hey remember youth group and how you convinced my best friend that I was bad-mouthing her? What was up with that? Isn't exactly a conversation starter.

It was a pivotal moment in my life but at the end of the day, it is but a short chapter. Thanks to the birthday card from Gayle I recently found in one of my hat boxes, I will probably always remember it.

I'm sure Mrs. G never thinks of me. But sometimes I think about how unhealed of a person you must be to belittle and hate on a young girl that expressed admiration and curiosity about your craft. At the end of the day, I was built up by strong women like my grandmothers and a sweet sister.

So it turns out that I don't need her approval even though she was exactly what I wanted to be.

Turns out I am a writer after all.