Our feet dangling far from the ground, my best friend, McKenna, and I squealed as we pumped our little legs faster to swing higher. We were enjoying our break from the labors of first grade, when our classmate, Lyndsey, suddenly approached the swingset. We called out, “Do you want to swing with us?”

“I want to swing next to McKenna,” Lyndsey declared, so I slowed my swing to hop off and switch, but as I did so, Lyndsey said, “You’re not allowed to swing with us. Go play somewhere else.” Immediately, my first-grade world came crashing down around me. For the rest of the year, and for reasons I never understood, Lyndsey refused to let me play with my friends, isolating me, and making school miserable.

Nearly eight years later, I sat in the high school cafeteria eating lunch with some of my friends, when Lyndsey approached our table. She clearly wanted a seat, but having spent the last eight years of my life avoiding my first-grade bully, I struggled to bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting out, “You’re not allowed to sit with us. Go sit somewhere else.” But what kind of person would I be if I did what she had done to me? So, while I didn’t exactly welcome her, I let her sit down.

Throughout the following months, Lyndsey and I ate lunch together often, so much so that she became one of my best friends for the remainder of high school. She no longer resembled the mean little girl from the playground; instead, she was caring, strong, ambitious, and kind. Lyndsey’s growth opened my eyes as to how people can change drastically over time, something that I previously didn’t believe. Therefore, Lyndsey altered my perspective on personality growth, giving me hope for many others in the world.