I grew up attending a small private school in Puerto Rico, Cupeyville School, with about 54 of us moving together from kindergarten to senior year.

Let’s just say, this does not mean that we were destined to be a happy family. Expected, maybe. But it was definitely not the case.

We literally grew up under the same roof and watched each other transform from wide-eyed kids with lunchboxes to teenagers carrying our scars and insecurities like extra homework.

For me, that closeness was a double-edged sword. The familiarity didn’t mean kindness. It meant that every mistake, every misstep, and every “different” part of me was magnified and judged.

High school wasn’t just a place of learning; it was a stage where mean girls sharpened their words into weapons.

Later, as a young journalist in Miami, I sometimes felt those echoes again, the same whispers, the same exclusion, the same “you’re not enough.” It was as though some people never truly left high school behind. And while those experiences made me stronger, they also left bruises that I’ve carried into adulthood.

As a budding author, I see how much of my book draws from those days. The scars won’t vanish, but they’ve given me strength, and a voice.

I remember a poem I wrote back then called The Myth of Normality. It was published in our makeshift school newspaper, just cut-out images glued onto copy paper, but it meant everything. The title alone carried a truth I didn’t yet know how to live: that “normal” is an illusion. That being you, really you, is the only thing that matters. It took me years to bring that poem to life within myself.

This is why stories like "K-Pop Demon Hunters" matter to me. Watching Rumi, the leader of HUNTR/X, struggle with her dual identity, that of half human and half demon, felt like holding up a mirror.

Outwardly, she’s charismatic and confident. But inside, she hides, terrified of judgment, terrified of being rejected for who she really is. That was me in Cupeyville’s hallways, and later in newsroom corners, afraid to show my full self.

Rumi’s journey, from self-loathing to self-acceptance, reminded me that strength comes from embracing all of who you are, even the parts others try to label as flaws.

It’s the same reason "Mean Girls" remains evergreen. That film is more than just punchlines and pink Wednesdays, but it’s a reflection of how bullies feed on insecurity. When we’re desperate to fit in, we hand them power. And yet, films like these, and the stories we write, give us a chance to reframe our pain.

I’ve tried to make amends with people from my past, but sometimes you realize it’s okay to drift. We’re not the same people we were, and some only see us through the lens of who we used to be. That’s their safety net, not mine.

Today, as a teacher, I look at my students and hope they see beyond the walls of high school cliques and cruel words. I want them to find their strength sooner than I did, to wipe their tears and know it will be okay. Bullies may mark you, but those marks can turn into maps, guiding you toward the friendships, love, and belonging you deserve later in life.

And, most importantly, thanks to my experiences at Cupeyville School, my classroom has become a no bullying and no judgment zone. I can proudly say that in my now 10 years at Boca Raton High School, no one has felt like they need to hide who they are, and when I spot what could become bullying, it does not get to that point. Not under my roof. Never.

In the end, this is because “normal” was never the goal. Being real was. And that’s where true friendship, and true freedom, lives.

So to anyone reading this, whether you’re 15, 25, or 55, stop hiding. Stop apologizing for your spark. Remember that mean girls, or mean voices in general, are loudest when they sense your fear.

Take back that power. Be your own Rumi. Be your own reminder that you’re more than enough. Because when you finally step into yourself, you’ll find the people, the real friends, who have been waiting to meet the real you all along.

And guess what? That’s your tribe. And they were waiting for you all along.