Dear Younger Me | The Middle School Chapter

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Alright. Now that we’re officially besties and you’re all signed up (you did pause and go do it, right?), welcome back to this super fun series we’re doing called Dear Younger Me. 

If you’re new here—first of all, hiiii! 

Second, we’re in the middle of this time-traveling adventure where I write letters to my younger self, unpacking all the mess, magic, and mayhem of growing up. 

Last week, we hit up elementary school me—and let’s just say... she was deep in her people-pleasing, pirouette-performing era.

But this week? We’re stepping into the land of lockers, lip gloss, and low-rise jeans... yep. I said it, low, rise, jeans. I wish I was making this up, but sadly—it was the move. 

We’ve officially entered the Middle School Era.

Now let me tell you, middle school me was all about one thing: blending in. 

Standing out? Nope. Getting noticed? Hard pass. I stuck with whatever the group was doing, because that was literally the secret sauce to survival: blend in, avoid the spotlight, and dodge the drama. 

Plus, no one wants to be picked last in gym class, right?

I didn’t want to stand out, didn’t want to be noticed, and absolutely did not want to be different. 

I was trying to lay low like a ninja in a hoodie, just doing whatever the crowd was doing because that usually meant one thing: safety. And yea…that was secret sauce number two. I mean, haven’t you ever heard the old saying—there’s safety in numbers or some silly haw hem like that?

I remember how my friends and I would literally call each other every single night to plan every detail of our outfits. Like, “Okay, tomorrow is scrounge day—which means sweatpants, hair tied back in a scrunchie, side knotted oversized NKOTB tee, and def donʼt forget your high scrunched socks - so basically, chill but make it cute.” And if you showed up in jeans on scrounge day? Girl, social suicide. You had to match. You had to coordinate. You had to roll deep.

True is, I was a follower in middle school, no shame in my game. Like total follower. No leading here. 

And this was especially wild because before that, I was kind of a natural leader. Actually leading was my jam.

But somewhere in the chaos of puberty and peer pressure, I lost that boldness. If someone said “jump,” I didn’t even ask how high—I was already in the air. Just trying to fit in. Fly under the radar. Survive the day.

And yes… I even joined in on ridiculous things like that one game where we scraped the tops of our hands with our fingernails until someone screamed “UNCLE!” And if you don’t know what I’m talking about—just wait. We’ll get there. Spoiler alert: it’s as gross as it sounds.

So girl…itʼs time to buckle up. Today, we’re diving headfirst into all those middle school vibes—the awkward, the messy, and the downright hilarious. We’ll laugh, wince, and maybe even cut some slack for that younger self who was just figuring out how to be her. Ready? Let’s go there—together.

Weʼre gonna get right into it ok—this ridiculous hand-scraping game, I mentioned above, is so absurd, it deserves to be front and center. 

Girl, it was one of the dumbest things we ever did in middle school—and when I say “we,” I mean me too, fully committed like it was the Olympics of nonsense.

So picture this: it’s seventh grade. We’re sitting around in a circle during lunch or waiting for the bus, and someone—probably a kid named Brandon or Tyler—says, “Let’s play The Game.” 

Now, you’d think this was something cool, like a card trick or a challenge involving snacks. 

But no. 

Nope. Not even a little cool. Next level stupidity yʼall. 

This game? It involved using your fingernail—yes, your actual fingernail—and rubbing it back and forth across the top of your hand. Over and over and over again. Faster and harder. Until it burned. Until it turned red. Until—yep—you were practically peeling skin off your own hand and bleeding! And what was the grand prize for this act of sheer brilliance?

If you could hold out the longest—if you didn’t scream or flinch or beg for mercy—you were the “winner.” 

But let’s be real: the “winner” was just the one who lasted the longest before yelling UNCLE! with a half-bloodied hand and a badge of honor that literally said, I harmed myself for attention today!

Looking back, I laugh...and cringe...and want to give sixth-grade me a big ol’ hug and say, “Sweetheart. No. Just no.” 

Because back then, it wasn’t just about the game. It was about being seen. Being tough.

Being “in.” And sadly, stuff like that—painful, silly, and kind of gross—was what we thought gave us value.

How wild is it that your worth could be measured by how much pain you could fake your way through, just to be noticed?

I just seriously canʼt even.

Anyway, beyond just trying to blend in, I remember how deep my loneliness ran during those middle school years. Like, next-level lonely, y’all. 

And all that confusion and loneliness came down to one hard truth: I had no idea who I really was. I knew I was faking it, sure—but I didn’t have anything real to fall back on. I wasn’t hiding my identity… I didn’t even have one yet. 

Underneath the loneliness, underneath the confusion, was this one glaring thing—I just didn’t know myself. 

I wasn’t pretending to be someone... I was pretending to be anyone. 

Because let’s be real—without a solid sense of identity, we’re all just out here guessing.

Winging it like it’s our full-time job. And that right there? That’s what made middle school feel like one giant game of “Guess Who?” A bunch of kids trying to latch onto anything that felt stable, cool, or safe. And when everyone’s trying to find their “thing”? That’s when the invisible line gets drawn between the cool crew and everyone else just trying to figure it out.

Basically, this is how a few kids get crowned “cool,” and the rest of us are out here playing supporting roles in their middle school rom-com. Been there?

Guys, honestly, this season was like wandering through a foggy maze, just trying on masks that didn’t fit, and hoping one would stick. That constant, swirling confusion wasn’t just exhausting—it made me feel completely alone, because how do you connect with others when you don’t even know yourself? 

Pretty sure middle school came with its own recipe: a dash of confusion, a heap of loneliness, and a steady stream of pretending. Mix it all together and—boom—hot mess casserole. Total train wreck energy. You get it, right?

Anyway—where were we? Ah yes, this beautiful disaster we like to call identity. Let’s get back to it.

Identity, my friends, is basically the ultimate boss fight of middle school—no contest.

One minute you’re loving flute and pom squad like it’s your calling, and the next? You’re ditching the flute for violin and suddenly you’re the star point guard on the basketball team. Like, what even?

And when your whole goal is just to blend in, girl, you’re basically running on empty. You’re always “on,” flipping your personality like a chameleon, hoping no one notices you’re wearing a mask. But trust me, the second you drop that guard, being vulnerable feels like handing the spotlight to the wrong crowd—and that’s scary.

So, you fake it ‘til you make it, pretending everything’s fine. Then, when you finally get home and lock the door, reality crashes down and you’re left unraveling like a Netflix drama. Your parents? They see the show you’re putting on, not the real you who’s quietly lost somewhere in the middle.

And just to spice things up, here comes peer pressure sliding into the DMs. More freedom means more chances to mess up—and if you’re a follower like me, that pressure stacks up quick.

Which brings me to the next crazy story—remember that ridiculous hand-scraping game?

Yeah, well, that’s just the start. Now, before we dive into this, I need to say something really important.

This story?

It’s not lighthearted.

It’s not funny.

And it’s definitely not safe.

I’m about to share something I went through when I was around your age—something I regret, something that still feels heavy. But please hear me: this is not a story to imitate. It’s not something to try out, mess around with, or be curious about.

What we used to call a “game” was anything but. It was reckless. It was dangerous. And it nearly cost someone their life.

People have gotten seriously hurt. Some have died. And today, this kind of thing is taken very seriously by schools, by parents, and even by law enforcement. Suspensions, arrests, trauma—real consequences.

So I’m not telling you this to be edgy or to give you something wild to pass along. I’m telling you because I want you to know that you never have to go along with something that makes you feel off inside. I’m telling you so that if you ever feel pressure to prove yourself, you’ll remember this moment—and walk away.

Promise me that? Okay. Deep breath.

Dear middle school me,

I can remember that day like it was burned into the back of my mind.

And I get it now—I really do.

You just wanted to belong.

You were tired of feeling like the odd one out, the girl who always played it safe.

So when the whispers about this “game” started floating around Felton Middle School like wildfire—mysterious, edgy, risky—you leaned in.

It felt like a dare disguised as bonding. Something off-limits that somehow promised connection. And at that age? That felt more valuable than safety.

When the sleepover came, the buzz around it hadn’t died down—it had grown. After the pizza, the movies, the usual giggles and games, the energy in the room shifted. It got quiet.

And then someone mentioned it—the thing everyone was pretending not to be curious about, but secretly was.

Your stomach flipped, but you stayed cool.

Because showing fear felt like social suicide.

One by one, girls volunteered. You watched—wide-eyed, sick inside—as things escalated.

There were moments that should have stopped it. Eyes going blank. Bodies collapsing.

Confusion, fear, nervous laughter. But no one stopped. No one spoke up. Including you.

Because peer pressure doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it just waits. Still and heavy. Until you give in.

When your turn came, you were terrified. Desperate for a way out. And even though you faked your part to avoid the full weight of what the others went through, it didn’t matter.

Because after that came something worse: you were expected to do it to someone else.

That part? Still haunts you.

And just when you thought the nightmare had passed, the situation spiraled.

A week later, it was like word had spread. Everyone who hadn’t been there wanted to be part of it. Like it was some secret club they missed. You didn’t have the strength to walk away, so you followed again—ashamed of how easy it was to get swept back in.

Then came the middle school dance.

Loud music.

Low lights.

Distracted adults.

It felt like the perfect setup to disappear into a crowd and do something you shouldn’t.

And that’s where everything changed.

One girl—excited, bold, unaware—stepped forward. What happened next was different.

Terrifyingly different.

She didn’t respond like the others. Her body reacted in a way no one expected. Jerking. Seizing. It was the kind of moment that steals the breath from a room.

Suddenly, no one was laughing. No one was trying to be cool.

Panic set in.

Someone finally ran for help.

And while adults rushed in and the girl slowly regained consciousness, what remained was a room full of stunned silence... and a sick, heavy secret.

We never told.

Not the teachers.

Not our parents.

Not each other.

We scattered like nothing had happened.

But everything had changed.Inside, I was unraveling.

And by Monday, it was no longer a secret.

The school knew.

They were calling girls into the office one by one. Waiting your turn felt like slow-motion dread.

But deeper than the fear of getting caught was the shame. The truth you didn’t want to say out loud: You didn’t even want to do it. You just wanted to belong. And that’s what broke your heart the most.

To whoever’s listening right now...I need you to hear this part: you don’t have to do what everyone else is doing to matter. You don’t need to participate to be included. If something makes your heart race in the wrong way—walk away. You don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t have to play along.

The cost of fitting in is never worth your safety, your peace, or your soul.

You are already enough. Already loved. Already chosen.

Let my regret be your red flag. And let this moment give you the courage to choose better.

So younger me, sweet girl… I see you. I see how scared you were to stand out.

How desperately you just wanted to belong. But can I tell you something?

You never needed their approval. Not one second.

You’ve always belonged. Not because of what you do, but because of Whose you are.

Romans 12:2 says, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” The pattern of this world says: blend in, stay safe, follow the crowd.

But you? You were never made for the background.

God calls you light. A city on a hill. Chosen. Set apart. That’s not small. That’s not hidden.

That’s not playing it safe.

And maybe you feel like that night defined you. Like your silence made you weak. But hear me: Jesus doesn’t cancel you—He covers you. He redeems the dumb choices. He restores your voice.

So to every girl listening: If you’re feeling stuck in a group where your silence feels safer than your truth—know this:

You don’t have to go along to get along. You can say no. You can walk away. You can be the girl who doesn’t play the game. And guess what?

That kind of courage? It’s contagious.

So dear younger me… I forgive you. I love you. I’m proud of you for surviving.

And now? I’m calling you to rise.

You’re not here to fit in. You were made to stand out—beautifully, boldly, and unapologetically... in Christ.

You know… looking back now, I wish someone would've just sat me down—maybe over a Starbucks pink drink or something—and said, “Hey, just because everyone else is doing it doesn’t mean you need to. And honestly? It’s not going to lead where you think it will.”

Because what I see so clearly now that I couldn’t back then… is how many of us were just desperate to blend in. Like actually panicked at the idea of standing out. We thought if we could just fly under the radar, say what they say, laugh when they laugh, do what they do—we’d be safe. We’d be liked. We’d belong.

But here’s the crazy part: that blending in we all thought was working? It wasn’t. Not really.

Because sometimes, when you go along with the crowd just to “not be weird” or to “not be the only one,” you actually end up losing parts of who you are… and what’s even more heartbreaking is that you’re doing it for people who might not even be thinking about you two days from now.

Middle school is wild like that.

These years—sixth through eighth grade—are honestly some of the weirdest, most confusing, in-between, identity-wrecking years of life. And it’s no one’s fault. You’re growing, changing, trying to figure out what matters to you… but also just trying to survive the group chat and avoid getting called out in class.

And when you don’t know who you are yet? You kind of borrow bits of everyone else.

A little of her style. A little of his confidence.A little of their jokes or the music they like. You piece together this version of yourself that kind of blends in with whoever you’re around.

And I get it. That feels safer. That feels easier.But eventually, it leaves you empty. Because deep down, you know it’s not really you.

And girl, here’s the honest truth: Going with the crowd might work for a while. It might keep you from getting side-eyed or excluded for a bit.But it won’t take you anywhere you actually want to go.

Because you were never created to blend in.

And following the crowd—especially when it’s doing stuff that makes your stomach twist or your heart feel heavy—will never lead to peace.

It leads to more confusion.

More insecurity.

More shame.

Trust me—I’ve been there.

I spent a lot of middle school just trying to not be the girl who got left out. So I did things I knew deep down I shouldn’t. I tagged along, I laughed at stuff that wasn’t funny, I said yes when I should’ve said absolutely not. And guess what? Even after all that—I still didn’t get “in.” I still wasn’t fully accepted. I wasn’t really seen.

And what’s worse? I wasn’t even recognizing myself anymore.

But even in all that mess—even when I was walking around with that low-key pit in my stomach, wondering if I’d ever really fit anywhere—God never gave up on me.

He didn’t ghost me.He didn’t roll His eyes.He stayed close.

Now, I didn’t always feel Him. There were so many moments where it felt like He was a million miles away and probably disappointed in me. But looking back now, I can see His fingerprints all over those years.

I can see the way He let me make my own choices—yeah, even the dumb ones—but He never let them fully wreck me. He always pulled me back before I could spiral too far.

There were nights I’d go along with something and then lay in bed feeling that uncomfortable pit in my chest. That quiet voice that would say, “That’s not who you are.” That conviction? That was Him. That was His love showing up even when I didn’t ask for it.

And it took reps—so many reps. I had to make a bunch of wrong choices before I started to learn what it actually felt like to choose right. But over time, those little “ugh, I don’t like how that made me feel” moments stacked up. And by the time high school came around, I had this tiny bit of resolve that hadn’t been there before. A little voice that said, “Maybe I don’t want to keep going down this path.”

And for a while, that voice helped. I stood up for myself more. I said no when I needed to. I stopped trying to please people who didn’t even notice the effort I was putting in.

And yeah, I still had moments where I slipped up. High school and even college came with seasons where I caved again—where I followed again—but God?

He never let me wander too far.

And I see that now as one of the most beautiful parts of His character.

He didn’t give up on me. He didn’t let my mistakes define me. Even when I was running… He had His hand on me. Keeping me. Covering me. Guiding me.

His plan for my life was bigger than my mess.And that same thing is true for you.

So if you’re listening right now and thinking, “This is literally me,”—first of all, same. I’ve been there. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. And you’re not too far gone.

But second of all… I want you to hear this:

You do not have to keep following the crowd. You don’t have to let people who don’t even really know you be the ones defining your worth. You have a Creator who already sees you, knows you, and loves every part of you—even the parts you’re still figuring out.

And when you start rooting your identity in His truth—when you start listening to what He says about you—you’re going to feel something shift.

You’re going to stand a little taller.

Breathe a little deeper.

Live with a little more confidence.

Because you’ll know that no matter what middle school or high school or life throws at you—you’re not doing it alone.

You’re seen. You’re loved. You’re protected.And you were made for more than just fitting in.

You were made to lead. To live boldly. To walk in purpose.

So don’t be afraid to stand out. God’s got you—even in the middle of the mess.

Alright babe, letʼs bring it home. 

Okay, so earlier this week, we had a whole moment with Elementary me. You know, the goody two-shoes, rule-follower, always-trying-to-please girl who just wanted the gold stars and zero drama. 

And maybe that sounded a little (or a lot) like you. 

We looked at her with some big-time compassion and let her breathe for a sec. 

We told her it’s okay to stop striving so hard. That she’s already enough—no achievements or applause needed.

And today we took a trip to the wild world of middle school. The land of awkward lunch tables, trying to find your crew, and figuring out how to just exist without standing out too much.

If you’re listening right now and feeling like, “Whoa... how did she just read my mind?”—girl, same. I’ve been there. I was there.

And if you’re feeling a little exposed but also a little lighter… that’s the point.

That’s freedom.

Freedom from the pressure to keep up.

To fit in.

To say yes when your heart is screaming no.

To be cool at the cost of being you.

I want you to know—being seen like that? That’s not meant to shame you. It’s meant to free you.

Because the truth?

The real win isn’t about blending in. It’s not about shrinking to fit or going along just to avoid standing out.

Nope.

The win is in being brave enough to push back. 

To pause and say, “Actually… I don’t want to do that.” 

To be the girl who gently but firmly says no, even when everyone else is saying yes.

 To be the girl who makes it safe for someone else to stand up, too.

So hey, give yourself permission to pause. To ask, “Is this really me?” To walk away from stuff that doesn’t sit right.

You don’t have to blend in to belong. You don’t have to follow to be loved. And girl—you were never meant to shrink. You were meant to shine.

So give yourself permission to be bold, be different, ruffle a few feathers if it means you’re staying true to who God says you are. Courage doesn’t always look loud—but it does look faithful. And it looks really, really good on you. 

Babe, nowʼs the time.

You’re not here to repeat history—you’re here to write it.