adolescence

The first time I was inspired to injure myself was when I was thirteen. I had just read Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls, an advice book my mother had hidden on the shelf between some garish ceramic dancing girls, books on cocker spaniels, and her and my father’s decaying wedding cake topper. In the book, a well-meaning psychologist told stories about teenage girls acting out, and self-injury was just one of many ways. I wasn’t the type to climb out the window on a rope made of bed sheets, so self-harm made a lot of sense.

In the wake of America's "crisis of adulthood" and in the middle of a city known for Peter Pan Syndrome, I find myself feeling that I too have gotten an extension on my adolescence. It has become a time for me to heal, center myself in a way I never could in childhood, and figure out what I want for my life.

I saw my boobs as a way to get me into the secret world of feminine desirability, so I played them like they were my winning hand. I created an entire story about my sexuality that centered my breasts because they felt like the only normal — or maybe extraordinary — thing about my body. I think I hoped that I could use them to get some precious ween (obvi), but also to get MORE.

The culture around sports (and especially high school football fandom) made it difficult not to internalize a lot of harmful assumptions.

The culture around sports (and especially high school football fandom) made it difficult not to internalize a lot of harmful assumptions.

In Final Fantasy VII, I could pretend I was Tifa Lockhart, the tough activist who punched and kicked her way through any enemies.

It's worth questioning some of our assumptions about adolescent inferiority.

His mouth was soft. He could swear, make out, act indifferent, complain, and get embarrassed all in five minutes.