Strawberry Shortcake Justice: Mean Girls Then, and Now

By Meggen Harris / Follow  Meggen In The Middle!

When I was six, I hit a girl in the face with my aluminum Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox.

Not my proudest moment—but definitely not unprovoked.

She’d been tormenting me on the school bus for weeks—yanking my backpack, whispering insults just loud enough for me to hear, leaning in too close with that smug, slow-burn intimidation mean girls seem to master early.

One day, she pushed too far. I don’t remember what she said. I just remember the heat rising in my chest, the knot in my throat, the helplessness curdling into rage. And then—wham. Lunchbox to the face. Just like that, the power dynamic shifted. Right in front of all the neighborhood kids on our stop.

I didn’t get in trouble. Not formally. But the shame came anyway. Not because I defended myself—but because I had to.

After that, she backed off. Until the next bully came… because they always did.

Back then, bullying was overt. Schoolyard and bus-ride taunts. Slammed lockers. Exclusion games. It hurt—but at least it was visible. Nameable.

Now? It’s quieter. Smarter. Digital. Dressed up in “professionalism” and cloaked in smiles. It shows up as being left off the email thread. Not tagged in the photo. Copied without credit. A “friendly” DM that’s really a dig. A refusal to acknowledge, support, or celebrate. An invisible wall built brick by petty brick.

The tactics have changed. The sting hasn’t.

And what’s worse? When you speak up about it, you’re often gaslit.
“You’re overreacting.”
“She probably didn’t mean it.”
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”

I’m sure.

I’ve been bullied at home, at school, and now—as a grown woman—in rooms where the meanness is dressed in empowerment merch and woman-to-woman marketing language. The kind of spaces that preach sisterhood but practice exclusion. The kind of women who post #womensupportingwomen but won’t extend a hand unless there’s something in it for them.

I’m not perfect. I know that. I’m sure in someone’s eyes, I’m the mean girl. That’s not my intent—but I own that perception exists. I can be intense. People tend to have strong reactions to me—curiosity, admiration, resentment, projection. Some people are drawn to my light. Others try to dim it. But I know what it feels like to be made small—and how long those wounds can live under the skin.

I turn 50 soon, and sometimes I still feel six. Still holding a lunchbox in one hand and my dignity in the other.

What Bullying Feels Like Now

These days, bullying doesn’t leave bruises. It leaves doubts.

It creeps in through silence. Through strategic omissions. Through a glance that makes you question whether you belong—or ever did.

The adult version of bullying rarely gets named. It’s “professional boundaries.” It’s “branding decisions.” It’s We’re just not aligned. But I’ve learned: when women bully other women, it’s not always about power. Sometimes it’s about projection. Jealousy. Insecurity. Scarcity masquerading as strategy.

And while I’ve outgrown the urge to swing a lunchbox (and I don’t condone violence in any form), I haven’t outgrown the sting. If anything, it cuts deeper now—because we’re supposed to know better. Because we’ve survived too much to keep hurting each other like this.

And yet… women still bully other women.

Not just in boardrooms or social circles—but in the spaces that should feel safest.
Mentorships. Creative collaborations. Wellness communities. Entrepreneurship circles.

I’ve watched women copy my work, undermine my ideas, ghost me after extracting what they needed, then repackage the work as their own. I’ve watched them pretend I don’t exist publicly—while privately DMing me for help, advice, introductions, and media coverage.

It’s not high school. It’s more insidious than that.

And what hurts most isn’t just the betrayal. It’s the silence. The people who watch it happen and say nothing. The ones who preach empowerment—until it costs them something.

What I’m Choosing Instead

I’m not here to burn bridges. I’m just done building them alone.

I’ve spent years giving away my work. Giving the benefit of the doubt. Giving grace to people who didn’t earn it.

I know now:

Protecting your peace is not petty.
Setting boundaries is not mean.
Not everyone deserves access to your light—especially not the ones trying to dim it.

So, I’m choosing something else.

Honesty.
Creativity.
Collaboration over competition.
The long game.
The right people.

I’m choosing to tell the truth about what it feels like to build a life in full view of people who pretend not to see you—and to keep showing up anyway.

Maybe you’ve felt this too. Maybe you’ve been talked about instead of supported. Erased instead of celebrated. Or maybe you’ve been that quiet observer, unsure of whether to speak up.

If so, this is your nudge.

We can’t fix the culture of performative empowerment if we’re afraid to name it. We can’t create spaces of true belonging if we’re still curating cliques in grown-up clothes.

You don’t have to like everyone. But you can be kind. You can be clear.
You can be decent.

Because some of us are still walking around with invisible bruises—and still don’t feel safe enough to put the lunchbox down.

If you’ve ever been bullied, burned, or quietly blocked—this space is for you.
If you’ve been left out while being watched, borrowed from without being credited, or told to be grateful for breadcrumbs—I see you.

I’m building something here that doesn’t require polish or perfection.
Just truth. And maybe a little solidarity.

If this resonated, I’d love for you to:
• Subscribe if you haven’t already
• Comment and share your own “lunchbox” moment
• Send this to someone who might need to hear it

We can’t rewrite the story if we don’t tell the truth about the page we’re on.

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