My boyfriend glances over to me as we both sit on the couch that appears in various renditions of his childhood memories, and suddenly he breaks the comfortable silence that sits between us. “If you could, what would you tell your middle school self?” he asks. I immediately freeze, fixed in my position on the couch. If I had been holding glass, it would have shattered as it slipped from my hands. The sheer magnitude of this question is unknown to him, as 6 years of heartbreak, laughter, struggle, and success flash before me. I remember back to my 7th-grade self, pudgy with bad fashion sense and even worse eyeliner. I recall her struggles, her shame, the ache in her chest at various points of the year. I would tell her so much.

I would tell her not to worry about the mockery you receive. Try to tune out the sounds of male laughter as your shy, awkward frame lunges down the hallway. When the sounds of female gossip threaten to infiltrate your ears, do your best to ensure that your laughter is louder, that the compliments that you give others cancel out the negativity of petty middle school drama. I would tell her that the school legend is true, really people bully because they are insecure. But most of all, I would tell her not to let the neither comments nor the false compliments harden her heart, she is meant to be soft, empathetic, and sensitive. She won’t believe me, but believe it or not, 7th-grade rendition of me, none of these people, these bullies, will matter by the time you reach 18.

I would tell her how beautiful she is.Yes, she is, at the time, a little husky, but it is baby fat that would naturally fall away. I can visualize the first time she looks at the lunch that her mother lovingly packed for her and slams it into the garbage with tears in her eyes. I would tell her that she doesn’t take up too much space even though she swears that she does and that she is the largest one in the school (she isn’t). I would tell her that if she continues on this self-destructive path, her hair will fall out, she won’t have the energy to dance anymore, she will risk the chance of hospitalization. If she refuses to see herself in all of her glory, she will wind up in worse relationships than could ever be replicated by middle school health classes. I would tell her, "Stop basing your opinion of yourself on the views of other people. You are far more incredible, passionate, and intelligent than you will ever see."

I would tell her how much better it will get. I would tell her things that would seem like fairy tales to her. How she falls in love with the boy who lives downstairs that has dark hair but a bright heart, a soft voice but bellowing laughter. I would tell her how she will put her intelligence to the test at an incredible school, she will even make the Dean’s List (even though she doesn’t really know what that means yet). I would tell her that she just needs to hang in there and that things will be really rough for a really long time. At times, it is going to seem like she is drowning in despair and some days she won’t find the strength to leave her bed. But the most important things is that she pushes past all of it. All the pain she will experience will contribute to the person she is destined to be, the person I am now. She has a bright, incredible future ahead of her, and she will always have that to look forward to.

Above all, I would hug her because I know that that is what she needs right then. And before I left this metaphorical conversation with my past, I would teach her how to properly do her eyeliner in order to save us the embarrassment of going through past photos.