Let me tell you a story about a girl who mastered the art of expressing herself—just not with her voice. That girl? Me. While some people command a room with their words, I prefer to sneak my thoughts onto paper, like a ninja poet who avoids direct confrontation at all costs.
Why, you ask? Well, let’s just say I was raised in a household where emotions were served with a side of drama and a garnish of tough love. My mother, bless her unpredictable soul, could give any reality show a run for its money. If emotional turbulence was a sport, she’d have gold medals hanging on every wall.
While other kids were outside playing tag, I was unknowingly cast as the ‘wise elder’ of our family, expected to be mature beyond my years. “You’re a big girl now,” was my childhood anthem. But deep down? I was just a kid who wanted to trade stickers and master the monkey bars—not navigate a never-ending soap opera.
The result? A delightful cocktail of personality quirks. My self-esteem enjoys a game of hide-and-seek (mostly hide). My social circle is so small it could qualify as a limited edition. And my need to keep people happy? Let’s just say I juggle expectations like a circus act—minus the applause.
And affection? That’s where things get interesting. Hugs? Handshakes? A pat on the back? They feel like someone just barged into my personal bubble carrying a megaphone. I react to unexpected displays of affection the way most people react to surprise pop quizzes—with sheer panic.
But here’s the plot twist—while my voice sometimes stumbles, my writing soars. Every stifled thought, every unsaid word, every moment of uncertainty finds its way onto paper, turning silence into something powerful. Writing became my stage, my microphone, my way of navigating a world that sometimes felt way too loud.
So no, I might not be the life of the party. My conversations might include more nervous laughter than actual words. But there’s something magical about learning to whisper your truth before you’re ready to shout it.
Maybe one day, I’ll get better at speaking up. Maybe I’ll finally embrace a hug without feeling like I’m short-circuiting. And when that day comes, I’ll celebrate the girl who started by whispering and learned, in her own time, to turn up the volume.
Because in the end, it’s not about how loud you are—it’s about making sure your story is heard.
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