Hello, all you beautiful people. Let’s dive into a classic cringe moment from my middle school experience, which I promise is one for the books. This story is set when I was twelve and still figuring out my identity, which is a whole separate saga. For context, I was smack in the middle of seventh grade, and the language of the kids around me was evolving in a way that made me cringe. It was the era of “Skibidi” and “Rizz,” and hearing those terms made my eyes roll more than I care to admit.
Now, onto something more serious. My mom had been battling cancer for a while now. She’d gone through ten surgeries in two years and had just been diagnosed with a major health issue again. On the days when she was in surgery, school felt unbearable. I would sit in class, my stomach in knots, trying to focus while worrying about how she was doing. On this particular day, I was feeling especially anxious, as she was undergoing yet another surgery, and I had no idea what was happening.
In the middle of the chaos that was my seventh-grade chorus class, there was Sam—let’s call her that. Sam was the quintessential annoying classmate: loud, overly extroverted, the kind of person who thought being rude to adults made her cool. But beyond all that, she had a knack for asking the most ridiculous questions at the worst times. And wouldn’t you know it, she picked the worst day possible to bug me. My mom was in surgery and all I wanted was some peace and quiet.
So there I was, sitting with my (now ex) best friend, when Sam turns around and says, “Erm, excuse me, are you an alpha sigma rizzler?” I mean, who even asks that? My friend, showing remarkable restraint, gave Sam a cold stare, effectively shutting her down. Go ex-friend! But then Sam, undeterred, turns to me and repeats the same nonsense.
Honestly, I just glared at her. My mind was racing with how I could let her know today was not the day to mess with me. So, I mustered all the sass I could and said, “Sam, today is not the day and I am not the one.” Did I rehearse that line in my head? Maybe. Did it feel good to say it? Absolutely. But that wasn’t enough for her, because Sam, ever the persistent annoyance, grumbled back something like, “You don’t have to be so mean about it…”
And that was the moment. Something in me snapped, and I felt a surge of courage I didn’t know I had. I raised my voice a bit more than intended and shot back, “Sam, my mom is literally hours away in a hospital having surgery. Stop.”
Silence fell over the classroom like a blanket. Sam was taken aback, and surprisingly, she didn’t say a word for the rest of the class. It was a small victory, but it felt monumental at that moment. The anxiety bubbling in my chest eased just a bit, knowing I had stood up for myself—even if it was just against a classmate who didn’t know better.
Now that I’m looking back at it, I’m not sure if the whole thing was a trauma response or just a normal kid’s reaction to being pushed too far. But who knows? Sometimes it’s just nice to have a win, however small it might be. Also, my mom is doing well now; we both made it through our respective battles and are in therapy, working on our issues like champs.
Thanks for reading, you amazing people! And remember to drink some watah!
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