"One Day You'll Look Back on This . . ." I've learned to take time for myself and to treat myself with a great deal of love and respect 'cause I like me. . . . I think I'm kind of cool. -Whoopi Goldberg "I can't go to school like this!" I wailed as I stared into my mirror, hating my face, my body and life in general. A river of salty tears traced a path down my cheeks. Summoned from the kitchen by my shrieking, my mother appeared at my side a second later. "What's the problem?" she asked patiently. "Everything . . . just everything!" I complained and continued to stare horrified into the mirror. At almost thirteen, the problems that I felt I had were overwhelming. I had a hideous new crop of angry, red pimples that had erupted on my forehead and chin overnight--every night. My hair suddenly looked greasy all the time, even though I washed it every second day. My aching tummy signaled that my newfound "friend" was about to visit once again, causing my jeans to fit too snugly and make me appear as though I had been eating nothing but hot fudge sundaes. And to top it off, my chewed-up fingernails were torn and bloody, since biting them seemed to go along with the way I worried about how other people perceived me. But everything that was bothering me wasn't just on the surface--I also had a broken heart. The guy I had been going out with had recently dumped me in favor of an older, more developed girl. Everything combined, I was a physical and emotional wreck. "Come on, now, Honey. Try not to cry," my mother said with a smile. "I remember what it was like to be your age. It was awkward and frustrating, and I got my heart stomped on, too, but I came through it--and so will you! It's not as bad as you think, and once you get to school with all your friends, you'll forget all about your pimples and what's-his-name, and one day you'll look back on this and wonder why you were ever so upset." Convinced that she didn't know what she was talking about, I gave her a dirty look and headed off for school, greeting my girlfriends on the sidewalk while my mother waved encouragingly from the front door. Later, as much as I hated to admit it, I found out that my mother was right. As I spent time with my friends who were going through the same things that I was, my mind wasn't on my troubles anymore, and soon I was laughing. When I returned home later that day, I was in a much better mood and because I had put my best foot forward, my mother rewarded me with a bag of goodies she had purchased from the drugstore. On my bed was a bag that included shampoo and conditioner, some acne medication, a gift certificate to a hair salon and, surprisingly, some hot, new shades of nail polish. "What on earth is this?" I asked bewildered, thinking that my mother had to be out of her mind if she thought I was going to flaunt my gnarled nails. As it turned out, she had a plan. I thought that it was cruel at the time, yet it turned out to be highly effective. I wasn't allowed to have any of the stuff in the bag, nor was I allowed to keep my ever-so-important stick of concealer. The deal was that for each week that I didn't bite my fingernails, one item of my choice would be returned to me. Desperate to retrieve my makeup and to get my hands on everything in the drugstore bag, I concentrated heavily on my schoolwork, instead of biting my nails and worrying about what people thought of me. Over the next few weeks, I was thrilled to watch my nails grow. By the time I earned the certificate to have my hair cut and restyled, my nails were so long that my mother also treated me to a manicure while we were at the salon. And as time wore on, I began to see that I was getting through the rough spot, just as she had promised I would. I liked that I received so many compliments on my hands and hair, but more than that, I was proud of myself for sticking with the deal and improving myself in the process--so proud, as a matter of fact, that I failed to notice my acne slowly clearing up. And I couldn't have cared less about what's-his-name. He quickly became a distant memory as I began to date many different boys, some of whom broke my heart and others whose hearts I broke. Though it certainly wasn't my last acne outbreak, bad hair day or crushed spirit, I did learn something. I will hold with me forever my mother's words of wisdom: "One day you'll look back on this and wonder why you were ever so upset." Years later, after several ups and downs in my life, I look back and realize that I did come through it all and I am the better for it. I only hope that if one day I have a daughter who is experiencing the struggles of adolescence, I will be as understanding, helpful and creative as my mother was with me. -Laurie Lonsdale Excerpted from Chicken Soup for the Girl's Soul: Real Stories by Real Girls about Real Stuff by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Hansen, Irene Dunlap All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
