Some brutal honesty: you have made me feel silenced, and you’re only sixteen. Or fifteen. Or seventeen. Or eighteen. Doesn’t matter.
When the best of what you say is: “A girl can’t ask a boy out. That’s desperate. That’s how you know a girl is desperate.”
When I cannot repeat the worst, but I wish I could un-hear it.
And you are the cause, the closest I’ve come to tears in years from pure, unadulterated frustration, but not for me.
Because you are what all my girls deal with on a daily basis.
Because I wonder if I feel silenced, how do they feel. When you force people into boxes, when they have to play by your rules or feel ridiculed or even worse than silenced — slandered — when there’s really nothing I can do about it but remove you from the room and even then, the consequences don’t matter to you?
I can’t. I just can’t. I’m so sorry. So sorry.