...talking to a 12 year-old.

I have this very painful memory from when I was 12 years-old, in the sixth grade. I was in Miss Luke’s class and the lunch hour had finished and I was standing just outside the door to the class room.

Some background you should know is that I was still in that VERY awkward stage where you’re teeth are too big for your face, I had a terrible hair cut, and oh… red hair was SO not cool in the sixth grade. Did I mention freckles? I was taller than most everyone, oh, and I’d “developed” quite early… plus, I still had all my baby fat. (oh right.. STILL have that baby fat…. Not so cute when you’re 12 or 36, but enough about that) I had serious self esteem issues.

So I’m standing just outside of this class room, imagining what a wonderful teacher I’d be when I grew up, when Lane Bradford* (*name has been changed to protect the innocent, equally as unfortunate looking boy who was also a victim in this whole story… oh did I mention he was also red headed...again, not cool.)

So Lane walks up to me in front of what had to be the entire school and practically shouts at me, “How many times do I have to say I don’t want to 'go with you'? Can you not understand that?”

I was baffled.

Embarassed.

And Baffled.

Apparently a group of girls in his class thought it would be funny to pass him notes from me begging him to ‘go with me’. I’m not sure who exactly they were trying to make fun of, him or me. (probably both, you know…the red hair). Nonetheless, I was mortified. First of all, I didn’t WANT to go with Lane Bradford. He wasn’t my type.

Second, the only friends I had were the girls my big sister had threatened that if they weren’t nice to me she’d make their lives a living hell…so yeah, I was pretty popular.

Third, there were a million people standing around staring at me, and I doubt if at age 12 many of them had developed a sense of empathy and understanding.

So you’re wondering what in the world dredged up this story. Well, apparently I’ve been hanging on to this 12 year-old version of myself and her self esteem, self worth, and lack of understanding and empathy for about 24 years now. And I promised a friend I’d have a talk with this 12 year-old self and in a very kind loving and gentle way explain to her that she’s not doing me any good.

I need to explain that we (and by we I mean ‘I’) am worthy of being loved.

I am a beautiful daughter of God (red hair is SO in now days).

I have friends who love me, that somehow I managed to get all by myself and that most of my friends have never even met my big sister.

I am loved and I love a lot of people, I'm loving.

Being vulnerable makes me even more beautiful and more loveable.

I have at least one friend who thinks I’m patient, persistent and constant. When I am honest with myself, I know I have far more than one.

I am not responsible for other people’s actions.

I also need to explain to my 12 year-old self that the Atonement encompasses it ALL, the pain and the sorrow. It even covers the part of my heart that for some reason insists on believing that I am unworthy of finding and experiencing falling in love and allowing someone to fall in love with me.

And so little Ang, sit down awhile and let’s chat. It could be a series of chats, but let’s just start with a hug and a smile. Know that I love you, all of you… baby fat and all.

There’s just something about talking to a 12 year-old.