Even though this is dedicated to those lonely sixth graders out there, this open letter is actually going to address the girls who were (briefly) my friends in that grade level:

After all these years, I finally want to thank you for what you did.

I can clearly remember the moment when our friendship was over. It was nearing the end of the school day, and you guys sent over one of our classmates to tell me that you didn’t want to me to be your friend anymore. I nodded numbly and sat still in my seat. I don’t think I said anything else for the rest of the day. Processing that outright rejection felt like standing in the pouring rain for hours and only just realizing that water was hitting my skin.

Something inside of me just knew that nothing would be the same. You didn’t make an attempt to talk to me, and anytime I lingered a bit too long around you, I was met with a sharp “Go away”.

I couldn’t comprehend what I did to earn your cold shoulders. In my time alone, I was constantly asking myself what was wrong with me, or why I wasn’t worthy of your friendship.

Was it the way I dressed? Did I speak too softly or act too timidly? Did I not grow up as fast as you guys, even though we just transitioned from elementary school? Was I just someone who didn’t deserve friendship?

Loneliness like this can make you crazy, and no child should have to experience this — I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy.

Again, I’m not here to chastise you for what had happened. Because of you, I grew up stronger, paired with determination to become a role model for young girls who may be facing the same situation as I.

Because of you, I can easily seem them sitting alone at the lunch table, trying to rush through their meal so they can head over to the library.

Because of you, I know that they talk to the librarians more than any of their classmates, feel childish in their braids when all the other girls curl and tease their hair, and wear sweaters so that they can hide from those intrusive, harmful thoughts. I know that what they’re feeling isn’t immense pressure, but rather a lack of gravity in the room.

It’s hard to breathe in that vacuum of space, I can tell them. I know–I understand.

Because of you, I can tell them that I wish I could say the fear goes away completely, but instead it comes again and again and again; each time hurts just as much as the last.

Yes, it never truly goes away, I can say. But it does get better.

I can tell them how, once the worst of the storm ebbs, they’ll find that making new friends gets slightly easier as each year passes. Middle school will end, high school will end even more quickly, and college will pass by in an instant. They will be here before they even know it, almost halfway done with their first year of college, writing an article to other young girls about their journey not being over yet. They’re going to be surrounded by a whole new group of amazing people, ones whom truly love them just as they are and need nothing else in return.

I’ll tell them how they’ll learn that friendship is something that can’t be contained in ten letters, that it’s something which fills the heart with love, acceptance, compassion, selflessness, and understanding–anything else is a cheap masquerade.

So, to all sixth grade girls who sit alone at lunch: You are worth it. You are more than enough. These tough times won’t be forever.

And to those girls who used to by my friends in that grade: Thank you again. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.