I care.
I care A LOT actually. I am so passionate about so many different things that it makes my heart ache. Sometimes I am not sure why I feel so deeply and why I choose to when I always anticipate tremendous amounts of emotional turmoil. However, I don’t see a reality in which I would want to be careless: I couldn’t imagine a life more dismal than one parched of intensely-had-emotion.
The first time I was made to feel pathetic for caring was in the seventh grade. I had written an essay for my history class titled something along the lines of “The Women's Suffrage Movement.” I had put my blood, sweat, and tears into this piece and felt proud of the linguistic effort. I have always, and will always, hold a strong investment in women’s issues. Then, my teacher told us we had to present our pieces to the class, immediately sending a shiver down my spine. I felt embarrassed: why did I feel embarrassed? What was so frightening to me about sharing something I had put so much effort into with my classmates?
Well, as they often say, trust your gut. I stood up, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and watched as every boy in the class giggled at me. They gave each other looks, shared a whisper into each other’s ears, and silently mocked me with their grins. Even though I stood about five inches taller than each of them, I felt the tiniest I have ever felt in my life. I proceeded to feel just as tiny, now in physique and character, for the following years of my high school career.
It wasn’t until I graduated high school that I rid myself of that shameful feeling. What I had once dismissed as fact, that it was embarrassing to care as much as I did, I let go. I realized that choosing to care silently because you cannot bear the thought of what others think of you isn’t passionate: it is compliant. Passion is a beautiful quality, and one that I love to share with others and vice versa. I love telling people about my affinity for Broadway plays. I adore hearing a book lover's argument about why Colleen Hoover is so awful. Any space in which there is an open conversation to be had about something someone cares about is a space I want to be included in. And to circle back, especially in the political climate of today, I care so deeply about the struggles women face that I refuse to keep my mouth shut. I cared in seventh grade and I care now: the only difference is now, I choose to be as loud as I want about it.
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