“There isn’t anyone you couldn’t love once you’ve heard their story.” That quote by Mary Lou Kownacki was the way our counselor decided to kick off the “community therapy session,” as my friends and I referred to it as. This “therapy session” was actually just a discussion between a few girls and I. As much as I hate to admit it now, I was bullying those girls I went to have the discussion with. Two of those girls were, in my opinion at the time, “overweight, ugly, and nerdy.” One of the others was insanely shy, and I remember picking on her just because she was vulnerable and never stood up for herself. She never once raised her hand in class, according to one of my friends, nor spoke. Another one of the young ladies was always with the silent one. They seemed to be good friends, but one of my friends joked that she did not know how they got to know each other because of the shy girl’s constant silence. The last girl had been the most recent victim of my cruelty at the time of our discussion. She was the one I tormented the most. A girl who, for a while, was slowly climbing the ranks of popularity. She was pretty, smart, and a very nice girl. I was trying to get people to see that she was a terrible person by spreading rumors about her, and tried to make her feel bad about herself. I did this because I was scared that she would replace me at the top of the social food chain. Despite the constant torment and public humiliation, I could never bring her down. She was actually the one to have brought those girls together to have a chat. The purpose of the talk was for me to hear everyone’s story, to see through their eyes. I thought the whole thing was pointless and would not help me to understand or get me to stop anything, but I was wrong.

One of the girls who I had called “overweight, ugly, and nerdy” spoke up first.

“H-Hi, I am Heather MacLeod,” she informed us. “And as you have all probably heard from her,” she said sheepishly, pointing to me, “I am very nerdy. I love to watch movies, read books, and as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I like doing homework. This is my story.”

Heather took a deep breath in as she pulled out a notecard from the back pocket of her jeans. “My entire family is overweight. We do not exercise, and we do not eat right. As you can probably tell, I take after them. I used to be proud of my size until Delilah came along.”

I looked down at the floor at the mention of my name.

“She pointed out every flaw about my looks. She made me feel as if I was nothing. After about three months of her constant bullying, I stopped eating.”

Feelings of guilt and shame swelled in my chest.

“I only eat a small bit of food every day at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Usually no more than a few forkfuls. That is all from me,” Heather finished.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I kept my eyes trained on the floor. I only lifted my head as the next “overweight, ugly, and nerdy” girl spoke up.

“Hello. I am McKayla Soileau. My hobbies description is pretty much the same as Heather’s. However, my backstory is not,” she spoke up. “My mom,” she swallowed, “she died when I was eleven. After my death, my dad became an alcoholic. I turned to eating as a way of coping. I gained about one hundred pounds after her death.”

At this point, I could not look any of them in the eyes, or keep the tears from welling up in my own.
“Hi, I am Miranda Levitt, and this is Alya Sweeney,” I heard another girl say.

I looked up slowly as I was expecting someone to introduce themselves rather than have someone else introduce them. I saw that Alya was using sign language to communicate with Miranda.

“Alya is mute. She was really lonely before she met me.” Miranda paused, letting Alya sign her next sentence. “We sat next to each other in chemistry last year. I know sign language already because my aunt is deaf, and she knows it because it is her way of communicating. Since we realized that we both knew sign language and could talk to one another, we have been inseparable. Even more so now that I have been helping her through the Delilah and her friends bullying her.”

I could feel Miranda shooting me a venomous glare as she finished her last sentence coldly. I did not expect to feel as bad as I did about what I had said and done. Tears had started to flow down my cheeks as the last girl spoke.

“Hello everyone, I am Mia Sieta,” she stated cheerfully. “As a lot of you probably know, Delilah and I do not have the greatest relationship,” she chuckled, her tone becoming softer and less chipper as she said her next sentence.

“As bright and as happy as I may seem, I’m broken. I have been through… a lot this past year.” She paused, taking in a shaky breath, seemingly swallowing back tears. “My parents got divorced last year, I had to move to a new school, I lost all of my friends from my old school because of a stupid rumor someone spread about me, and I am suffering from depression. I try to make myself seem happier and act like I am okay because I feel like if I do, I will start to actually be that way. Thank you all for listening.”

As Mia finished her last sentence, I could not help the tears that spilled from my eyes. Now, it was my turn to talk.

I swallowed down some more tears before starting, “I just wanted to say that I am sorry. I never realized how badly I was hurting you and did not know how much you had gone through.” I had swallowed in a breath before going on to say, “I have been through some troubles of my own recently. In no way does this make up for what I put you through, but maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive me once you hear my story.”

I had looked at everyone, waiting for an objection. When none came, I took in a shaky breath before telling them, “I have a little sister at home. She is six years old. My mom passed away a few years ago, and, like McKayla’s father, my dad turned to alcohol as a way of coping. Every night, he comes home around twelve in the morning. He is a nice man when he is not drunk. He always goes after my sister whenever he comes home, looking for someone to take his anger out on. I always wait for him to get home, so he can get me before he gets her. I wear a lot of makeup to cover the bruises. I come to school and take my anger with my dad out on someone here. I guess I use it as my way of coping, but that is not right, and I am sorry.”

I looked up to see that the girls in the circle were not looking at me with hatred, but empathy and sad eyes. I remember I started to cry because I had been so terrible to them, but they still found it in their hearts to show me that they understood, and felt sorry for me.

Mia got up and walked over to me, hugging my shaking form. Soon, all of the girls had joined in. I looked up to see our counselor with a satisfied smile on her face. I had forgotten she was even there. She nodded at me, before getting up from her chair and joining in on the hug.

The following days at school were very unusual. My counselor called me into her office the next morning after the discussion to alert me that Child Protective Services had been called on my father and that my sister and I would be staying with my aunt. During lunch that day, I told my friends that I would be moving groups. They were disgusted with me, and I was told to never come near them again. To this day I have not. That day, I formed an entirely new lunch group. One that was made up of Mia, Heather, McKayla, Alya, Miranda, and myself. I changed my attitude completely and started to become more like Mia, which initially got me more friends than I had while I sat with the other group. People had no longer feared me, no longer shied away in the halls as I passed, but they cheerfully called hello to me, and a lot of them became my good friends.
Now, almost fifteen years later, I work as a therapist. I listen to people’s problems and help them solve those problems instead of causing them. Hearing the stories of those girls during that “community therapy session” so long ago inspired my career choice. To this day I am best friends with the girls from that discussion. I have learned to love everyone, because “there isn’t anyone you couldn’t love once you’ve heard their story.”