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What I’d Tell My Sixteen-Year-Old Self

January 28, 2011

I don’t like to live with many regrets. I figure that every experience – especially the really crappy kind –makes me, for better or worse, me. But if I could write a letter to my younger self, there are a few nuggets I’d like to impart:

Don’t worry how your ass looks in that bikini. It looks amazing. Get out there is work it while you can.

Be nicer to your sister. She’s the only one you’ve got.

Same goes for your mother.

And your knees.

He’s not worth it.

Ugh – neither is he.

When you’re pregnant (waaaay into your thirties) and the doctor advises you to do Kegel exercises? Do them. A lot.

Pay more attention in grade 12 math. Summer school sucks.

Once you have kids you’ll end up sounding like your mom quite often. It’s not that bad.

Take risks – mistakes just show that you’re trying.

Those supposed cool kids will end up being such losers after graduation.

Short hair is not and never will be a good look for you (particularly when pregnant).

Dear Lori: this too shall pass...

What would you tell your teenaged self?

17 Comments leave one →
  1. January 28, 2011 6:13 am

    Oh my, the ass comment is so true. I remember obsessing about my body when I was that age and it was ridiculously perfect back then.

    The other one I’d add is “be nicer to your mom. You’ll end up feeling bad for how you treated her later on ..and come to find out she’s actually pretty cool after all.”

  2. ryoko861 permalink
    January 28, 2011 8:29 am

    “He’s not worth it”
    “Ugh – neither is he”

    If I only knew then what I know now, things would be SO different!

  3. The Perfectly Imperfect One permalink
    January 28, 2011 11:18 am

    That is so awesome! I have thought about doing something like this before, the problem is, I wouldn’t be who I am and where I am if not for all the stupid shit I did as a teen, moving out when I was 16 being one of them.

    • January 28, 2011 11:25 am

      I know! I tried to stay away from the lesson stuff because even if something really sucks, you can at least learn not to do it again, right? But that bikini? I looked good, dammit! 😉

  4. January 28, 2011 5:13 pm

    You nailed it. The best thing my older sister (older by 6 years) ever told me was what you articulated: she said the people who are cool in junior high will be nobodies by the end of high school. Then my brother (8 years older than me) later added: the people who will be interesting to talk to at high school reunions will not be the popular kids.

    They were both right.

    So are you.

    Love that pic. I too grew up in the 80s…but I believe I had bigger hair.

  5. January 28, 2011 5:26 pm

    The being nicer to your sister? I reeeeally need to heed that one. Yesterday, today and every day. And yes, why didn’t I flaunt it while I had it? Damn! You know what? You don’t look that bad with short hair.

    • January 28, 2011 5:40 pm

      Aww – thanks!

      And re. the hair, it was my Molly Ringwald phase and that’s the only time it looked kinda cute. One day when I’m drunk blogging I’ll post pics of my subsequent attempts at short hair. #notgreat

  6. January 29, 2011 10:33 am

    So true, so true. My fave: Take risks – mistakes just show that you’re trying.
    AND LOVED seeing the hotties from high school not age well. Make me glad that I was a late bloomer.
    And yes, he so wasn’t worth!

    • January 31, 2011 8:52 am

      I keep telling that to my son (the risks thing, not the he’s not worth it thing) and decided I need to put it into practice myself. Stay tuned…

  7. January 30, 2011 6:07 pm

    Nothing makes me happier than seeing the cool bitches from high school looking haggard now. I know it’s immature of me to say that, but it makes me just a little bit happy in my heart. This was a great post! Can you send it to my sixteen year old self?

  8. January 31, 2011 9:45 am

    Dude…why did we ever think we could do short hair??? My sister used to call mine the Vanessa Huxtible mushroom hair do…so bad!

    • February 2, 2011 12:58 pm

      I, too, was a Vanessa – when all I really wanted to be was a Denise…


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