When I was eight, I had a tooth pulled. Sitting in the school lobby, waiting for my mom to pick me up to go to the dentist, my little second grade mind couldn’t see past that day. Getting my tooth pulled was pretty much the worst thing imaginable. I didn’t think I’d survive.
When I have kids, I intend to sit them down when they’re twelve or so and have the Awkward Phase conversation with them. There will be a male and female version, but they’re pretty similar; I’m still working on the male one. The female version goes like this, “You’re awkward right now, and you’re going to continue to be that way for the next few years. Don’t worry. All your peers are awkward just like you. Even the pretty girls—the skinny blonde girls with the trendy clothes--are awkward. It may seem like they escaped, but their dye jobs and thick make-up are a thin veneer for their stumbling speech and body image problems.
“It may not seem like things will ever change, but trust me, they will. I too was once awkward. So was your dad. So was every person who ever survived to adulthood.
“And it’s okay that you feel unattractive. Your legs are gangly, your mouth full of metal, and your face covered in acne. That’s good reason to be self-conscious. But one day, you’ll wake up and make it the whole day without tripping over your own feet, or getting apple stuck in your braces, or using acne medication. You won’t notice at first. But gradually, you’ll have more self-confidence. You’ll stop saying “like” and “uh” every other word and saying everything like it’s a question? A boy might even ask you out. Then another one. Slowly you’ll realize you’re out of the Awkward Phase. That’s all it is. It’s just a phase.”
I survived the tooth extraction, and I survived adolescence. But things would have been so much easier if someone had mapped things out beforehand. There is life after the dentist office and there is life after the Awkward Phase.
