Lockdown, 2.0
I lost my voice this year. Twice, actually. Once in a literal sense with a cold. And once in a purely metaphorical, yet completely meaningful sense.
All my life, I have been proud of my ability to speak. Even when I felt shy and unable to, I could muster up some way to express myself, though not always in the kindest way. But, I’ve never thought myself perfect, so imperfection acknowledged, this year I’ve felt silent.
Last year, my sophomore year of high school, things felt fantastic. Fresh out of lockdown, with self-realization and a newfound determination in life, I was ready for everything that came my way. So I assumed junior year would be an extension of this. I thought everything would work itself out, and I’d feel better.
But, as all these stories go, it didn’t. So here I am, COVID-positive, on my final day of quarantine, and right back where I started, just with COVID this time. I have spent a lot of time thinking. A lot of time stressing, and in silence. It’s hard to sit with your problems and everything you usually ignore when you don’t have anything else to do.
Day 1 of quarantine, I sat in my bed and cried. I felt like I had no power. This was one of those feelings I hadn’t felt before. I have always loved the idea of powerful, even wicked, femininity. The idea of the evil witch, who was really just a smart woman, has always been something I loved. Something no one could understand, such strong dispositions, that people assumed women were evil. I always tried to think of this to calm myself, whenever I argued on morals or when people bothered me about my grades. It is not my job to make others feel less intimidated by me, though in my eyes, I am not intimidating at all. But being forced to acknowledge my lack of real power felt like a punch to the gut. One night of Thanksgiving Break, the day before I went to school, I cried over this. I suspected I had COVID, but I wouldn’t be able to get a test until I went to school. So I cried over my inability to get everything done and the struggles I went through trying to get my health checked out. But, I went to bed and reminded myself to be instead proud of all that I HAD done, and not to cry over what I cannot control. I strangely did feel better thinking of everything in this way. Then, Tuesday at lunch, my school clinic called me and told me to go to their office as soon as I could, so I grabbed my brownies and hurried back to campus.
Hurrying back, I could not comprehend my feelings. I wanted to cackle over the irony, or whatever literary device my life was at the moment. I could feel how heavily I was moving up and down, since I was trying to hurry without running (asthma). My head felt floaty and disconnected from my body as I tried to comprehend what I knew was coming; that I definitely had COVID. It was shocking, but also expected, when I was told I tested positive. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. I knew I suspected it, but I didn’t actually think it would be positive. It sounds ridiculous but maybe it was just the thought of how strange the situation itself was. But, I was eventually given my dear belongings and headed home, where, again, I cried in my bed.
Change is a topic always on my mind. My life has changed drastically from middle school to now. Unlike Thanksgiving Break, my quarantine was not planned. Again, life is unexpected, but I still had to go with it, and have another mini “break.” Alone, I finally had the chance to process the feelings that had begun to become unsettled over break. Feelings of meekness and disconnection. So, I talked to one of the amazing SEL ladies from a program I’m in. It has shockingly never been easy for me to talk about my feelings. I have been a journaler my entire life, so writing has always felt easier. But I talked to her about my situation, about friends, and about how I’d been feeling. She asked me to consider two main parts of who I am: my sensitivity, and my communication style. This slightly hurt.
My entire life, everyone has told me I’m sensitive. I always hated that. It seems like such a negative thing when people tell you you’re sensitive, so instead, I reshaped my mindset. Isn’t it good to be in touch with your emotions and to allow yourself to feel the way you do? But as we talked more, she told me that it’s not a matter of how good or bad sensitivity is, but a consideration of how it affects your life. And she’s right, unfortunately for my fragile emotions. It all goes hand in hand with my style of communication. Passive, with some assertive tendencies. Hearing this felt harder than hearing I was sensitive, quite honestly.
This year, I know I keep saying it, but my voice disappeared. I miss my sharp tongue, when I used to argue when I knew things weren’t right, or when I’d tell people shocking things (always true though). But, I’m a shell or a ghost or whatever else is making me float through this year, some thinning tether to reality. I have felt so complacent this year. I blame it partly on exhaustion, but also, on feeling lost. My voice left my body some time. Which plays into passivity. When was the last time I told my friends how I felt bluntly? When was the last time I defended myself or told them plainly that I disliked something? I’m not really sure anymore. Everything I say now feels like I’m beating around the bush. I decided to try harder to speak my mind over break, so I did in some instances, and that makes me proud. But then, I failed in so many more. And I hate failing! A lot! I mean I’m the middle child, oldest daughter, everything I do is a fight!
So, alone in my room, I decided to do what every cheesy teacher’s poster says, and asked Google. I read one article that stuck out to me a lot. Finding your voice doesn’t mean finding something new at all, it’s just another piece of you; the reason your voice feels gone is because you have something to say, but you don’t feel like you do, you aren’t saying it. I wondered what I had to say. All I have is this vague idea of who I am now versus the sharp-edged definition of who I was. What did I want to say anymore?
So I decided to seek out things I cared about on Netflix. I looked into Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, the 9to5 Movement, and even Rita Moreno. These helped a lot; people and movements that were about telling your story and expressing your voice. What change comes with passivity? And I know, I’m not changing society or anything, but I’m connected to all these people in some way, as women, or Muslims, or people who love to act (as girls who just decided to go for it).
I wrote in my journal and tried to deduce why I am so hesitant to change suddenly. Why am I so scared to try again? Basically, it came down to two concerns: what if I can’t do it, and is it worth it? The answers are still unknown, but I’d say it’s at least worth a try. I can’t lie though, I’m scared. It was not easy to change myself for the better in lockdown. I spent so many nights crying and feeling a horrible sense of loss. It was like two distinct points of life, the before and the after. Everything felt different, and it was incredible, things felt better in the end. That was until this year began, and every discovery had been erased. I had a fresh start, which normally I love, but this time, it was bad. So, what does that mean for me now? Do I go through every process, every self-analysis, every change, all over again? Will it stick this time?
It’s scary not to know because this isn’t some meaningless part of life, this is who I am, how I live and express myself. I want to be assertive. I want to be heard, by myself and by others. I wish I could end this by saying “I found my voice, it was right there all along!” with a beautiful theatrical single tear, but I think this is just the beginning. I am deciding to make a change. I don’t know how I will yet, nor do I know if it will work (and if it does, if it'll stick). But, I want to try again.
I think back to the night of heavy tears, feeling powerless, but the calm of lack of control. I don’t have any real power in this world, except my voice (and pen, haha). So, I’ll do what I can, and hopefully I won’t shed any more tears on things out of my power. Power is meaningless anyways. I don’t want that, I just want to change. I just want to be in touch with myself and be able to say what I have to say. I think it’ll be worth it, but right now I just feel wobbly and vulnerable. But for the time being, I just want to feel proud of the beginning of my second round of quarantine realizations. Whenever Monday comes around, I can’t guarantee I’ll have the same attitude, so for now, I will be happy. I will continue to fight for my voice’s return and for the courage to keep going. Hopefully I will stick it through. And hopefully, I won’t lose my voice again.
Then again, maybe it’s never about what’s lost, but about what is going to be found. Again and again and again.
All my life, I have been proud of my ability to speak. Even when I felt shy and unable to, I could muster up some way to express myself, though not always in the kindest way. But, I’ve never thought myself perfect, so imperfection acknowledged, this year I’ve felt silent.
Last year, my sophomore year of high school, things felt fantastic. Fresh out of lockdown, with self-realization and a newfound determination in life, I was ready for everything that came my way. So I assumed junior year would be an extension of this. I thought everything would work itself out, and I’d feel better.
But, as all these stories go, it didn’t. So here I am, COVID-positive, on my final day of quarantine, and right back where I started, just with COVID this time. I have spent a lot of time thinking. A lot of time stressing, and in silence. It’s hard to sit with your problems and everything you usually ignore when you don’t have anything else to do.
Day 1 of quarantine, I sat in my bed and cried. I felt like I had no power. This was one of those feelings I hadn’t felt before. I have always loved the idea of powerful, even wicked, femininity. The idea of the evil witch, who was really just a smart woman, has always been something I loved. Something no one could understand, such strong dispositions, that people assumed women were evil. I always tried to think of this to calm myself, whenever I argued on morals or when people bothered me about my grades. It is not my job to make others feel less intimidated by me, though in my eyes, I am not intimidating at all. But being forced to acknowledge my lack of real power felt like a punch to the gut. One night of Thanksgiving Break, the day before I went to school, I cried over this. I suspected I had COVID, but I wouldn’t be able to get a test until I went to school. So I cried over my inability to get everything done and the struggles I went through trying to get my health checked out. But, I went to bed and reminded myself to be instead proud of all that I HAD done, and not to cry over what I cannot control. I strangely did feel better thinking of everything in this way. Then, Tuesday at lunch, my school clinic called me and told me to go to their office as soon as I could, so I grabbed my brownies and hurried back to campus.
Hurrying back, I could not comprehend my feelings. I wanted to cackle over the irony, or whatever literary device my life was at the moment. I could feel how heavily I was moving up and down, since I was trying to hurry without running (asthma). My head felt floaty and disconnected from my body as I tried to comprehend what I knew was coming; that I definitely had COVID. It was shocking, but also expected, when I was told I tested positive. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. I knew I suspected it, but I didn’t actually think it would be positive. It sounds ridiculous but maybe it was just the thought of how strange the situation itself was. But, I was eventually given my dear belongings and headed home, where, again, I cried in my bed.
Change is a topic always on my mind. My life has changed drastically from middle school to now. Unlike Thanksgiving Break, my quarantine was not planned. Again, life is unexpected, but I still had to go with it, and have another mini “break.” Alone, I finally had the chance to process the feelings that had begun to become unsettled over break. Feelings of meekness and disconnection. So, I talked to one of the amazing SEL ladies from a program I’m in. It has shockingly never been easy for me to talk about my feelings. I have been a journaler my entire life, so writing has always felt easier. But I talked to her about my situation, about friends, and about how I’d been feeling. She asked me to consider two main parts of who I am: my sensitivity, and my communication style. This slightly hurt.
My entire life, everyone has told me I’m sensitive. I always hated that. It seems like such a negative thing when people tell you you’re sensitive, so instead, I reshaped my mindset. Isn’t it good to be in touch with your emotions and to allow yourself to feel the way you do? But as we talked more, she told me that it’s not a matter of how good or bad sensitivity is, but a consideration of how it affects your life. And she’s right, unfortunately for my fragile emotions. It all goes hand in hand with my style of communication. Passive, with some assertive tendencies. Hearing this felt harder than hearing I was sensitive, quite honestly.
This year, I know I keep saying it, but my voice disappeared. I miss my sharp tongue, when I used to argue when I knew things weren’t right, or when I’d tell people shocking things (always true though). But, I’m a shell or a ghost or whatever else is making me float through this year, some thinning tether to reality. I have felt so complacent this year. I blame it partly on exhaustion, but also, on feeling lost. My voice left my body some time. Which plays into passivity. When was the last time I told my friends how I felt bluntly? When was the last time I defended myself or told them plainly that I disliked something? I’m not really sure anymore. Everything I say now feels like I’m beating around the bush. I decided to try harder to speak my mind over break, so I did in some instances, and that makes me proud. But then, I failed in so many more. And I hate failing! A lot! I mean I’m the middle child, oldest daughter, everything I do is a fight!
So, alone in my room, I decided to do what every cheesy teacher’s poster says, and asked Google. I read one article that stuck out to me a lot. Finding your voice doesn’t mean finding something new at all, it’s just another piece of you; the reason your voice feels gone is because you have something to say, but you don’t feel like you do, you aren’t saying it. I wondered what I had to say. All I have is this vague idea of who I am now versus the sharp-edged definition of who I was. What did I want to say anymore?
So I decided to seek out things I cared about on Netflix. I looked into Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, the 9to5 Movement, and even Rita Moreno. These helped a lot; people and movements that were about telling your story and expressing your voice. What change comes with passivity? And I know, I’m not changing society or anything, but I’m connected to all these people in some way, as women, or Muslims, or people who love to act (as girls who just decided to go for it).
I wrote in my journal and tried to deduce why I am so hesitant to change suddenly. Why am I so scared to try again? Basically, it came down to two concerns: what if I can’t do it, and is it worth it? The answers are still unknown, but I’d say it’s at least worth a try. I can’t lie though, I’m scared. It was not easy to change myself for the better in lockdown. I spent so many nights crying and feeling a horrible sense of loss. It was like two distinct points of life, the before and the after. Everything felt different, and it was incredible, things felt better in the end. That was until this year began, and every discovery had been erased. I had a fresh start, which normally I love, but this time, it was bad. So, what does that mean for me now? Do I go through every process, every self-analysis, every change, all over again? Will it stick this time?
It’s scary not to know because this isn’t some meaningless part of life, this is who I am, how I live and express myself. I want to be assertive. I want to be heard, by myself and by others. I wish I could end this by saying “I found my voice, it was right there all along!” with a beautiful theatrical single tear, but I think this is just the beginning. I am deciding to make a change. I don’t know how I will yet, nor do I know if it will work (and if it does, if it'll stick). But, I want to try again.
I think back to the night of heavy tears, feeling powerless, but the calm of lack of control. I don’t have any real power in this world, except my voice (and pen, haha). So, I’ll do what I can, and hopefully I won’t shed any more tears on things out of my power. Power is meaningless anyways. I don’t want that, I just want to change. I just want to be in touch with myself and be able to say what I have to say. I think it’ll be worth it, but right now I just feel wobbly and vulnerable. But for the time being, I just want to feel proud of the beginning of my second round of quarantine realizations. Whenever Monday comes around, I can’t guarantee I’ll have the same attitude, so for now, I will be happy. I will continue to fight for my voice’s return and for the courage to keep going. Hopefully I will stick it through. And hopefully, I won’t lose my voice again.
Then again, maybe it’s never about what’s lost, but about what is going to be found. Again and again and again.
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