It took me longer than most to say my first words. In fact, it took so long that my father believed I was simply incapable of talking. Today, anyone who knows me is blessed (or cursed, depending on how you see it) to know that’s not true. Months after my dad expressed his concern, I said my first word and put his mind at ease. However, this ease was swiftly interrupted by my desire to never shut up, and my father often jokes that I never closed my mouth after it first opened.
Yet for a brief moment in time, my mouth closed again, and my father was once again fearful that his daughter would never speak. This happened towards the end of eighth grade and was a byproduct of my mental health deteriorating in the years after my mother passed away. The COVID-19 lockdown only caused my mental health to get worse, and I soon found myself growing distant from my loved ones as I tried to patch the growing void of loneliness inside of my mind. This caused damage to a majority of my friendships, and I entered high school familiar with this newfound loneliness and way of life. To make it worse, my first year of high school was completely online, which further isolated me from my peers.
Thus, as freshman year entered full swing, I found myself craving friends. Unfortunately, my old friends would take days to respond, and I couldn’t blame them — after all, I had done the same thing. So, I opted to make friends with anyone who would talk to me, entering toxic and emotionally draining friendships because I preferred being mistreated over being alone. As a result, my mental health was ruined by the end of freshman year, and my mouth remained shut towards my loved ones, opening only for simple greetings or small talk.
My father was understandably frustrated by this and scheduled me to meet with a psychiatrist. After this meeting, I was almost immediately put on Zoloft, a medication commonly used to treat anxiety and depression. Although taking medication did not magically void me of all my problems, it caused my anxiety and shame to slowly melt away. I still felt awful, but I was able to open up and regain the bubbly personality that I had throughout my elementary and middle school years. Thus, even though I was still socially awkward as we returned to school after the lockdown, I felt slightly more confident in my ability to make friends and fill the void of loneliness.
I’ve only grown more outgoing and made more friends as the years went on, and although I have still not been spared from all toxic friendships, I now choose to distance myself from people who drain me. Having toxic friends depleted my energy, silenced my voice and made me realize that my voice, time and energy are among my most valuable belongings, thus those who cannot respect them are unworthy of being in my life. While it has been difficult to separate myself from those who hurt me, doing so has significantly improved my mental health, and I’m grateful to have a group of friends who truly love and support me.
Most importantly, I found myself. I still take medication for my anxiety and depression but have grown far less reliant on it as I began finding hobbies and building communities that make me genuinely happy. I joined various student publications — which further incentivized me to value and use my voice — and I also began allocating Friday evenings to unwind with a movie, and this has finally placed my mind at ease. As a result, I have begun using my voice without shame, unabashedly being the kid whose mouth never quite closed after I spoke for the first time.
Today, if you were to ask any of my classmates about me, they’d probably say that I talk. A lot. I talk so much that they may refer to me as a “foghorn” with “a big fat mouth” (and they wouldn’t be wrong). However, my journey with speaking has taught me that having a voice is a gift — I hold onto it in the same way one may clutch an expensive necklace or prized pair of shoes, and I speak because I am proud. I am proud to have regained my voice after months of silence, I am proud to be where I am, and I am proud to be loved by people who understand me.
As I graduate and leave my family and friends, I find comfort in knowing my voice will extend state lines to keep in touch with my loved ones, preserving my circle as I strive to make another. Thus, while leaving home is scary, I enter the next stage of my life with complete trust in both myself and my voice to find valuable friendships and joy in everywhere I go for the years to come.
