Supporting Character

The Beauty in Blooming Late, with Joey Potter

Lately, I’ve been revisiting the shows that raised me—and if you know me, you know I was a Dawson’s Creek girl through and through. Joey Potter was it for me. A tomboy from the wrong side of the creek, all sarcasm and buttoned-up feelings, who carried the weight of everyone else’s emotions while quietly swallowing her own. Joey wasn’t just a character I watched—she was someone I recognized.

She was poor, sharp, guarded. She fell in love with her best friend and got overlooked the minute someone shinier walked into the room. When Jen arrived in Capeside, Joey didn’t stand a chance—not in Dawson’s eyes, anyway. And that narrative? It’s one I’ve felt replay in my own life more times than I can count. Being the girl people vent to, the one who “gets it,” the one you call but don’t choose—yeah, Joey and I know that feeling.

What always struck me was how much of herself she held in. She didn’t explode—she imploded. Her emotions didn’t spill out; they simmered under the surface until they cracked through. And I’ve always related to that. People see me as bold, loud, confident—but inside, there’s always been a version of me that’s bracing for rejection. That’s waiting to be passed over. That’s used to it.

Joey’s background mirrored my own emotional landscape more than I realized at the time. She didn’t grow up with stability. Her family was complicated. Her environment didn’t offer a roadmap for confidence or connection. And while my story’s different—I did grow up with love—it was also filled with a sense of otherness. I was the private school girl from the poor neighborhood. Too this for that, too that for this. Joey was the first time I saw a girl like me on TV: deeply feeling, deeply misunderstood, and just trying to find her place.

And then there’s Pacey. Let’s talk about Pacey Witter. The only correct love interest on that show. Misunderstood, self-deprecating, funny, loyal, and when he loved? He loved. He wasn’t the shiny pick. But he saw Joey. Really saw her.

One of their most powerful moments happens on a dock, when Pacey tells Joey she doesn’t have to be afraid to be who she is because he’s not going anywhere. That kind of love—the kind that holds steady, even in the chaos—is what I’ve always craved. Not perfection, just presence. Not performance, just realness. He challenged her, supported her, gave her space to be messy and brilliant and scared. Their relationship was never about perfection—it was about growth. And God, I wanted that kind of love. Still do.

Joey’s arc isn’t about being chosen—it’s about learning to choose herself. Watching her slowly step into her power, claim her voice, and make decisions for her, not for the people around her, taught me more than any self-help book ever could.

There’s one part of her valedictorian speech that always lingers with me, not just for how it sounds but for how true it feels. She talked about how the people we lose, whether by distance or something more final, stay with us.

“The truth is, in time, that's all that we're going to be to each other anyway, this population of memories, some wonderful and endearing, some less so. But taken together, those memories help make us who we are and who we will be.”

And I think that’s part of what She Means Well has always been about: honoring the moments and connections that built us, even when they didn’t always look pretty. Because they still mattered. And they still mean something. that our relationships—whether fleeting or lasting, healthy or messy—still shape who we become. They stay with us, even after the scenes have changed. And they matter.—this idea that we have to honor our paths, even the imperfect ones, and that it’s okay to not have it all figured out yet.

That? That’s She Means Well. That’s the core of it. We don’t always get it right. Sometimes we love the wrong people. Sometimes we mute ourselves. Sometimes we think we have to earn love by being helpful, by being quiet, by being less. But eventually, we learn that it’s okay to be seen. And that it’s okay to ask for more.

Joey Potter didn’t bloom early. She bloomed right on time. And I think maybe—so did I.