A Teens Worst Nightmare... period.
I’m not one to spill my guts about my life, let alone share embarrassing stories from my adolescence, but I figured it’s time to crawl out of my shell and just go for it.
Let’s set the scene: I was 13 years old, it was the early 2000s—2003, to be exact, on a nice and warm Saturday night. Back then, if you didn’t spend your Saturday nights at Skateland, were you even living? It was the place. The whole week at school revolved around who “couple skated” with who, who fell, and who kissed the boy you liked. I genuinely feel lucky to have grown up in such a simple time.
This ten minutes of my life still haunts me nearly 20 years later.
The music was pumping, and if you’re my age, you know. When your jam came on, you grabbed your friends and hit the rink like your life depended on it. In those few minutes, it didn’t matter what group you were in—“rollerbladers” or “speed skaters”, popular girls or shy girls—everyone vibed together.
There I was, doing my thing, skating backwards and showing off my footwork when it happened: the gush.
Yes, that gush. The kind that turns your face red, makes your heart stop, and sends you flying toward the bathroom like your life depends on it.
I bolted, knocking into people left and right. “Excuse me, sorry, MOVE!” I had to make it to the bathroom now.
Now let me paint a picture of the Skateland bathroom. It wasn’t your typical setup. No big door—just tiled walls and a little hallway you skate down to find three stalls with the shortest damn doors you’ve ever seen. Seriously, you could sit on the toilet and make eye contact with the girls at the sink. And on this night, the bathroom was packed.
I stood there, skates on, legs clamped together, praying a stall would open. When one finally did, I slid in (literally—those tiled floors and skates weren’t a great combo). My first thought? Crap, I don’t have a pad or tampon. And there was no way I was about to ask anyone for help. Thirteen-year-old girls can be ruthless.
I grabbed a wad of cheap-ass toilet paper and did my best to clean up without anyone noticing. But just when I thought I had it under control, disaster struck.
It all... poured out of me. Onto the floor.
I froze.
The girls at the sink stared. I could feel their judgment like daggers in my back. I couldn’t roll through it with my skates. So I grabbed more toilet paper and started cleaning like a woman possessed.
Eventually, they all left in one big group, thank god. I cleaned up as best I could, grabbed my trusty flip phone, and called my mom for backup. I wasn’t sticking around for anyone to hold this over me for the rest of my life.
To this day, no one’s ever mentioned that night, so maybe the girls who saw kept quiet—or maybe they just talked behind my back. Either way, I’ll take it.
Looking back, it’s funny how moments like that stick with you. Now, as a mom to two boys, I can’t help but laugh at how “grown-up” I thought I was at 13. But hey, moments like these teach you valuable lessons: Always have extra pads or tampons on hand. Even if it’s just for someone else who might need them.
What about you? Ever had an embarrassing moment like this? Or witnessed someone in a similar situation? Let me know—I promise not to judge!