Rules on How to Be a Girl (According to Everyone But Me)

I’m twelve, which means I’m not really a kid anymore, but I’m definitely not an adult. Somehow, that puts me in this weird place where people think I should understand things, but still don’t trust me to decide anything for myself. 

Everyone keeps explaining the world to me: my body, my brain, my phone, my future, but none of it sounds the same. At school, they tell me to be confident. Online, everything says I should already be perfect. At home, the message is to be careful. I’m trying to hold all of it at once without messing up, but it feels impossible because everyone wants something different from me.

They say there are rules for being a girl, but no one actually explains them. They just expect me to know. 

I’m supposed to be a good student, a nice girl who doesn’t beg for attention, but I still want to be noticed. I practice a sport four days a week, and sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it feels like a job I can never quite win. I am asked to give 100% but adults do not give 100% to everything. 

There’s always more expected: more effort, more discipline, more toughness, but no one explains how to get there. More is asked, but why can’t we ever do less? What does more prove, and who are we proving it to?

I don’t ask questions because I don’t want to look dumb. Popularity is supposed to be bad, but it looks like so much fun to be liked, to be chosen, to belong. I’m told to be kind to everyone, include everyone, and never hurt feelings, but also to hold boundaries even when it’s uncomfortable. No one explains how to do both, and adults do not do it either.

I think adults just pretend they kno,w but I know they do not, and even if they Google it doesn’t mean they actually do it. Sometimes they feel like hypocrites, and I wish they would admit they don’t know everything instead of acting as they do. 

The rules of being a girl aren’t written anywhere. They’re just everywhere flashing at me through screens, comments, looks, and silence. Even youth group doesn’t fit at times. The Bible doesn’t make sense, but we just have to have more faith. What does that even mean, but I pretend just like all the other kids, because if we ask questions and do not agree, the adults get uncomfortable.

Be smart, but not so smart that people feel stupid around you. Be kind, but don’t let anyone walk all over you. Be confident, but don’t think too highly of yourself. Be bold. Be brave. Be strong. I am so tired. The adults are tired too, but they still expect excellence without mistakes, as if learning shouldn’t be messy.

They tell me not to compare myself to others, but somehow I’m still supposed to know exactly where I stand. I don’t even know how not to compare. My whole world compares for me. I know where I rank. I know who’s better, who’s cooler, who’s prettier, who’s ahead. All of these unspoken messages whisper the same thing: you’re not enough. But you can’t say that out loud. What would your mom think? You can’t be weak. You can’t fall apart.

They say, be a lady, but no one explains what that actually means. The rules keep changing. My shorts are too short. My shirt is too tight. Cover up. You can’t wear that but find your own style. Just not that style. Or that one. Or that one either. If I don’t try hard enough, I’m judged. If I try too hard, I’m judged. My mom tells me I’m perfect the way I am, but I don’t feel perfect. She wants me to stay little but also grow up, and I don’t understand how I’m supposed to do both. 

People talk about my body like it belongs to everyone. Eat more. Eat less. Be healthy. Don’t get fat. Don’t get too thin. Why are you so picky? Why did you eat that? I didn’t even know bodies were something you could get wrong until people started correcting mine. I still feel like a kid most of the time, but my body doesn’t always look like one anymore, and that confuses me in ways I don’t have words for yet.

They tell me to be myself, but then they tell me not like that. I’m too loud. Too quiet. Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too bossy. Too soft. Sometimes I cry, and I don’t even know why. Sometimes I feel angry, and it scares me. Sometimes I feel nothing at all, and that scares me too. They tell me to calm down, but no one ever explains how you’re supposed to do that when everything feels so big inside your chest.

Everyone has advice…parents, teachers, friends, the internet, and they all say different things with the same confidence. It all sounds reasonable. It all sounds true. And somehow that makes it even more confusing. 

What do I think? What do I believe? What do I want? Does anyone care? Really care?

Somewhere in all of this, I’m supposed to find my own voice. I hear it sometimes. It’s quiet, unsure, loud, silly, angry, frustrated, sometimes all at once. When I try to say what I’m thinking, it often comes out wrong or gets judged, so I pull it back in. But it’s still there.

I don’t need someone to tell me all the rules. I need my mom. I need adults who really understand and are not afraid to listen and ask. I need help sorting through the noise. Someone who doesn’t panic when I’m confused. Someone who understands that this age feels like standing in the middle of a thousand voices and trying to decide which ones matter. I don’t need perfection. I need guidance, patience, and space to figure things out.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “This sounds like my daughter,” you’re not behind and neither is she. This is the messy middle, and it’s navigable when moms stop parenting from fear and start leading with understanding. This is normal. This is the work I do every day with moms and girls who don’t want perfection… they want clarity and connection.

If you are ready to learn how to do this in 2026, join the Raising Beautiful Messes Mom-Tween Community today or email [email protected].