upworthy

mean girls

A mother confronts her daughter for judging her friend's weight.

A 42-year-old mother wondered whether she did the right thing by disciplining her 18-year-old daughter, Abby, who disinvited a friend from vacation because of her weight. The mother asked people on Reddit for their opinion. For some background, Abby had struggled with her weight for many years, so she went to her mother for help. The two set up a program where Abby was given a reward for every milestone she achieved.

“Four months ago, she asked that I don't get her any more rewards and add it up to her birthday gift, and for her gift she wants a vacation I will pay for, for her and her friends instead of the huge party I had promised for her 18th. I said OK,” the mother wrote. So, instead of a series of small gifts, Abbey wanted one large one, a vacation with two of her friends. The vacation would also celebrate Abby’s 18th birthday. The mother agreed and booked the trip for the 3 girls.

“Fast forward to last weekend, we started preparing for her vacation,” the mother wrote. “I called the other two girls' parents to confirm the girls would be and learned Abby's best friend Betty isn't going. Betty loves traveling and was looking forward to the vacation, so I asked why. Apparently, Abby uninvited her because ‘she is too chubby to look good in pictures.’”

When the mother approached Abby about the situation, she doubled down on her comments to Betty. “I calmly talked to Abby and reminded her how Betty would feel being left out for such a reason, and she went off with, 'I didn't work so hard for this vacation so my pictures will be ruined,'" the mother wrote.

Abby then asked Betty to contact her mom and say that she decided not to go on the trip because she wasn’t feeling well. Betty refused to lie, and Abby sent her a “ton of hateful texts and body-shaming insults.” Betty shared screenshots of the texts to the mother, and she promptly canceled the entire vacation.

Now, Abby’s father, who shares 50-50 custody with the mother, is livid, and Abby won’t speak to the mother. The mom asked the Reddit AITA forum to see if she was in the wrong, and the commenters overwhelmingly said she did the right thing. "Some of my friends agree on my approach, while others think I should have put my daughter first,” the mother said.

The most popular commenter was short and to the point.

"Teaching your daughter to not be a horrible human being IS putting her first," Due_Laugh_3851 wrote. "I commend your strength and parenting skills. This was the right thing to do and would've been hard to do. Well done, you deserve to go on the holiday yourself," Loud_Wallaby737 added.

"... uninviting someone because you only want skinny people in your pictures is a disgusting attitude frankly. Sorry, I just don't find a nicer word for it. I am totally with you that this needs to have consequences, and while I'm very much against breaking promises, I do believe this is an exception. Like you said, your daughter knows what it feels like. She (but anyone really) should be supportive of friends wanting to lose weight if that is the case and if it isn't they she should just mind her own business body," SensitiveSires wrote.

One of the few people who thought she was in the wrong believed that the mother set her daughter up for failure.

"[You're wrong] for giving your daughter who is a child rewards for weight loss. Her behavior of value based on weight shows she likely has developed disordered eating patterns and attitudes and this will cause her a lifetime of pain," tamtheprogram wrote.

The silver lining to the story is that many people who commented said that even though her daughter did something very hurtful, she’s still a teenager and there’s a chance she’ll realize the error of her ways.

"The daughter is just a teenager, she still has a lot of time to learn and grow up. Writing off her entire future as a mean girl when it’s very rare to be the same exact person you were at 18 as you grow up is a lot," Stephapeaz wrote.


This article originally appeared on 9.18.23

Author and researcher Rosalind Wiseman calls herself a listener. Intimate conversations and interviews with hundreds of teen girls formed the basis for her hit book, "Queen Bees and Wannabes,"about how to help teen girls survive the wild world of high school. The book, which was eventually turned into the blockbuster movie "Mean Girls," was lauded for its frighteningly accurate depiction of female bullying.

[rebelmouse-image 19530238 dam="1" original_size="408x230" caption="GIF from "Mean Girls."" expand=1]GIF from "Mean Girls."


By bringing an open mind to her research (she says she simply takes what young people say and translates it for adults), she exposed some important truths about the inner workings of "girl world" to parents everywhere. Since the success of "Queen Bees" and "Mean Girls," however, Wiseman has been doing work that she argues is even more exciting and important, and that's gotten far less attention: trying to understand adolescent and teenage boys.

It's work that's especially important as conversations around toxic masculinity and sexual harassment have become increasingly mainstream.

Wiseman says there are four key things she's learned in her conversations with hundreds of our country's future men about how we can better shape the next generation.

1. Listen to what young boys have to say.

It seems ironic, Wiseman says, to shout: "Hey, men need to have their voices heard!"After all, men's voices are heard almost everywhere. They quite literally get most of the speaking lines in movies (even movies about women), they hold over 80% of the seats in Congress, and in the business world, about 95% of CEO positions are filled by men. In the case of younger men, however, listening to what they have to say just might be the right thing to do.

"We think they talk a lot and take up a lot of space, but we don't often ask about their opinions," Wiseman explains. If we want to really make changes to the culture of masculinity as it pertains to boys, there's really no better way to make sure we're at least getting an accurate picture of how they see the world around them.

For her 2013 book, "Masterminds and Wingmen" (sort of the boy version of "Mean Girls"), Wiseman spoke in-depth with nearly 200 teenage boys. Contrary to expectations, Wiseman says she found many were more than eager for a chance to finally share their fears and insecurities.

There are plenty of problems with the way boys in our country are raised and problems with how we've defined what it means to "be a man." But figuring out how to fix things shouldn't be an adults-only conversation.

As Wiseman says: "It's absurd to me to tell boys what their lives are like without talking to them first."

2. Don't wait to have important conversations about what they should do if they see abuse happening around them.

[rebelmouse-image 19530239 dam="1" original_size="1200x634" caption="Photo by Dariusz Sankowski/Pixabay." expand=1]Photo by Dariusz Sankowski/Pixabay.

"There is a minority of boys and men that, for whatever reason, feel they have a right to abuse people," Wiseman explains. "Through a combination of social intelligence and privilege, they know the majority of boys and young men who don't like what they're doing are going to be silent."

Many parents refuse to even consider that their own son will eventually be faced with a challenging situation — hearing his buddies trading vulgar, sexist jokes, or seeing a teacher have inappropriate contact with a student. They certainly don't think he'd have no idea what to do or that he might be a perpetrator himself.

The majority of teens will witness some kind of abuse of power at some point, Wiseman says. We shouldn't wait until after the fact to let them know we expect them to stand up for what's right, even if it's hard.

"We have to look at them as partners in this," she says. "Tell them 'I just want you to be able to know where I stand and where my expectations are for you.'"

3. Now for the hard part  — parents and adults have to model upstanding behavior for boys to see.

Talking the talk is easy. But walking the walk is what truly matters.

Parents frequently reach out to Wiseman with the same problem: "What if I go to [holiday] dinner and Uncle Bob says some racist, homophobic comment?"

Let's face it: a lot of us freeze up, change the subject, or otherwise don't want to deal with a potential confrontation, so we laugh it off or brush it under the rug. (Billy Bush, anyone?) Then we're shocked when boys do the same thing around friends making racist or sexist or homophobic comments.

It's OK that we're not perfect parents or role models 100% of the time, but it's important to acknowledge those missteps to the boys who look up to us when they happen. Standing up for what's right in the moment is the right thing to do, but it sure can be easier to wait until the car ride home to tell your kids, "Hey, you know, what Uncle Bob said wasn't OK."

Don't let yourself off the hook though, Wiseman urges. When you tell your kid that what Uncle Bob did was wrong, own up to your own passiveness as well. Even a simple, "I didn't handle that the way I should have," can be enough.

"Just having that conversation makes it so much more likely that your son will come to you the next time he's in a tough situation," Wiseman advises.

4. Encourage them to expect better of themselves.

[rebelmouse-image 19530240 dam="1" original_size="4218x3290" caption="Photo by NatureAddict/Pixabay." expand=1]Photo by NatureAddict/Pixabay.

Wiseman says one of the inherent and tragic flaws in the way America has defined masculinity is that caring about, well, pretty much anything makes you weak. And if you're weak, you're not really a man.

Caring about something like feminism? Sexual harassment? Social justice? It can make a man an utter outcast in some social circles.

"That is a travesty," Wiseman laments. "I say to high school boys all the time … 'a man of honor is someone who shuts their mouth when horrible things are going on around you? How did that become the definition of what a man is?'"

"I wouldn't put up with that if I were you," she tells them. "You're better than this; you're stronger than this."

In response, she sees them sit up a little taller and stand a little prouder. It's something they don't hear enough.

13 years later, people are still talking about "Mean Girls" and what it says about how our society treats girls. Let's hope Wiseman's work on "boy world" has the same kind of effect.

Young men aren't always going to do the right thing. They'll fold under the pressure of having to stand up to their best friend. They'll laugh at an offensive joke. They'll make mistakes.

And so will we, as teachers, parents, and role models.

"We have to acknowledge that we suck," Wiseman concludes.

"We have to say to boys, 'Hey, I get that I'm holding you to a high standard. I understand that you don't have a lot of good role models.' It doesn't mean we're going to give up."

I remember walking into the cafeteria of my new school and it was like someone punched me in the stomach.

I was in sixth grade. My family had just moved from Virginia to Ohio. At first, I attended the local Catholic school. Within the first two months, I was begging my parents to go to the public school because the girls were so mean.

And when I look back, wow, they were cruel. My maiden name is Ackerman. They’d call me “Lisa Acneman,” as sixth grade brought with it oily skin and some breakouts. When my parents decided that I would change schools, I felt relieved.


I won’t even tell you about the last day at school there when all the girls knew I was leaving.

Off to public school I went. But soon I was to find out that it didn’t matter whether I went to parochial or public school.

Instantly a group of girls took me in. They invited me to sit at their lunch table.

All photos by iStock.

Little did I know that they had kicked another girl off the table so I could sit with them. I was so grateful to have friends. I was a bit naïve. Maybe that’s because I grew up in a home where we were all out for each other and my assumption going “out into the world” was that everyone was like that too.

Then one day, I walked into the cafeteria. I nearly dropped my brown paper lunch bag. I looked at the table where I had been sitting for the last week. My first week at school. I counted the number of girls at the table — eight. Eight was the maximum number of people who could sit at one table. The two girls who were the “leaders” looked at me, whispered to the other girls at the table, and everyone turned around to laugh at me.

My heart sank. I actually went up to the table and feebly asked, “Is there space for me here?” Hoping maybe I was wrong, that it wasn’t as it seemed. I couldn’t feel my feet beneath me. I felt dizzy. I swear my heart was going to jump out of my chest.

"My ears were ringing, my hands were clammy, my heart was beating so fast."

I can’t remember what they said, but I must have gotten the picture because I turned and I quickly looked around for a place to sit. It was a small cafeteria and soon someone would notice me. I didn’t want anyone to look at me. My ears were ringing, my hands were clammy, my heart was beating so fast.

I felt the eight girls’ snickering whispers like daggers in my back. There was no “physical fight” or blow up so the teachers on lunch duty were none the wiser. I saw a table with no one at it. So I sat down. I wanted to cry. But I didn’t.

This is where I sat for two months. Alone. By myself.

Once, a male teacher came up to me — after whispering to another teacher — with a sympathetic, pleading look on his face and asked me something I can’t remember now. But I didn’t see him as a resource.

I know that eventually I sat somewhere with some group.

For the next two years that we lived in Ohio, I had some good experiences. I still have a friend from there who is one of my best friends.

But the two girls continued to be bullies. Yes, that’s what I can call it now as I understand as a psychotherapist and adult what was really going on. They were the kind of “friends” who would invite you over and you’d feel like “Oh good! We are friends again!” Only to have them talk about you or put you down.

We have all had experiences like this, where other girls have been mean to us.

Just the other day, another mom friend of mine told me that she waved to two moms talking and they looked at her and laughed. It happens in childhood. It can happen between adult women.

As a psychotherapist, I intimately know that when someone hurts others, it’s because they are hurting. I have counseled both the bully and the one being bullied.

I know, too, from counseling parents how, when our children’s lives eclipse our own, we remember (consciously or unconsciously in our body’s cellular memory) our own experiences of hurt, rejection, and betrayal. And those old experiences, though healed, come back up and make us tender.

I had an opportunity this last week to feel such tenderness. I’ll share that story in a moment.

But first, I want to share this — the trump.

What came out of my experiences with "mean girls"?

I can look back and see how I became an “includer.” I became someone who sees the outsider and looks to include people. I became someone who is good at bringing people in, making them feel a part of things.

I also became an “includer” with my own inner world of feelings and experiences. I learned through years and years of mindfulness and compassion practices how to create space to “include everything” and how to abide with whatever is arising. Even the nasty, hard-to-look-at, shameful parts. I practiced forgiveness. Those two bullies? I forgave them (they didn’t ask for my forgiveness). Other people who have hurt me? Other people I have hurt? I’m working on receiving forgiveness and extending forgiveness to others. Nothing excluded from forgiveness. Everything included.

I became an “includer” in my work — how I go about being a psychotherapist and coach with individuals and groups. I can hold space for someone to include it all, to hold the parts of them they might have abandoned, ignored, tried to keep quiet, kicked to the curb. I can abide with a client as they learn that excluding anything creates more suffering, and including facilitates healing and integration. True freedom.

I became an “includer” in my family. As parents, Brian and I are about modeling compassion and empathy to our children. We try to create “abiding space” for our children to mindfully name and express whatever is happening within them. On the good days, I can say, “I’ll abide with you. I’ll be with you in this.” And of course there are days when I am short and I snap at them. And then we begin again. We come back together and include even that in our human and imperfect way of being family.

And our family has become “includers.” We are about community and creating space for people — in our home, in our lives, in our hearts — for adults and children to feel loved and included just as they are.

Through gentleness, compassion, and mindful attention, these early experiences of rejection, betrayal, and hurt transformed me.

Through loving attention, through learning to include it all with mindfulness and compassion, I transformed these hurtful experiences and others into compassionate, inclusive arms to hold, words to speak, hands to give, and presence to offer.

And … they still make me tender. And that’s good, even holy. Because they open me to see the hurt in others and be tender with them.

It makes me really tender when it’s about my own daughter. It challenges, brings up and, offers an opportunity for deepening my practice of mindfulness and compassion... for opening my heart even wider.

Like this week, when my daughter came home from pre-K and told me yet again about an experience at school with another little girl.

“It starts early,” a friend said to me.And my heart breaks. My daughter is 4.

The details aren’t mine to share. But my heart was breaking. I talked with a few other moms. God, am I grateful to be alongside other moms who are “includers” — in our circle of moms and in the lives of our children. I talked with my husband. And, most importantly, I talked with my daughter. My dear, 4-year-old daughter.The details are my daughter’s to share someday.

When my daughter — your daughter — is looking back on her childhood, she will tell her own story and it’ll be one of how we walked alongside our girls.

How we empowered them.

I hope all our girls will someday share stories like:

My mom would listen to me as she stroked my hair, as she lingered with me and I shared what was happening and how I felt.”

My mom wouldn’t jump in and try to fix it. She wouldn’t freak out and panic out of her own fears and hurts and unconscious stuff she was holding. She would sit with me and ask me for my ideas and what I needed. She would wait and listen — listen to what’s said and unsaid, creating safe space for me to navigate the inner landscape of my own feelings and heart so that the right actions for me to take would arise from within me.”

My parents would advocate for and alongside me in situations that required adult intervention. They wouldn’t act out of fear or anger. They would wait and discern and pray and watch.”

My mom wasn’t about sweeping me up and saving me. She was about empowering me. She knew when to step in front of me and be the mama bear, protecting me. And she knew when to sit behind me or alongside me, abiding with me.”

I learned to say, “That's not OK!” and “Stop!” and “I am walking away now.”

I learned how to see clearly. I learned to not think there was something wrong with me. I learned to not turn on myself but rather have regard for myself.”

I learned to name with compassion what is happening, for myself and others. I learned to name it, state it, and own my response.”

I learned ways of working through difficulties with other girls and women in ways that honor and regard each girl and woman’s body, feelings, experiences, and needs.”

I learned to find my tribe of women. I learned to ask for help. I learned to be with others who uplift and honor each other.”

I learned to speak up. I learned to speak up for myself and for others in the face of injustice — on the playground, in the hallways between classes in middle school, or in international peace negotiations.”

I learned to be an includer. I learned to mindfully abide with whatever I am experiencing within my own inner landscape. And from such a place of inclusion, I learned to include and walk beside others.”

This is what I am modeling to my daughter. This is the space I am creating for my daughter. Not perfectly. But, my God, as best as I can. I know other moms who believe the same thing. I am blessed to be around other moms who want this for our community. They want this for our world. They want this for our daughters and their daughters.

I know you want to model this to your daughter too. You are this sacred space for your daughter. And I know you are doing it the best you can.

Because this is how we heal the "mean girls" culture: We hold, we include, we love, we empower, and we regard our girls.

And we model this in how we treat other women.

If you are a parent to a daughter, no matter the age, can you imagine your daughter telling such a story? Can you imagine creating the space for her to share, to abide with her, to empower her? Can you imagine raising "girls who include" instead of "mean girls"?

Can you imagine if we all model being an “includer” and resolving conflicts or hurts or insecurities with regard and compassion?

Can you imagine what this would do for our world if we raise daughters who know how to name what is happening within them and a situation, who know how to speak up in the face of injustice, who believe in their innate goodness, and who include rather than exclude because they have an inner confidence and have been raised to listen to the wisdom of their inner voice?

We have to imagine it and create it — for all of us women, for our daughters, and for our world.