I’m Super Sorry, But I’m About to Get Really Loud
If you’re reading this, it’s probably because you know me personally. Maybe you’re a former coworker, or one of my 314 gorgeous and perfect followers on Twitter. In digital speak, my “reach” is limited. I’ve realized, despite my own inner longing to be seen and heard, that this is by design.
A little over a year ago, I quit my stable job in PR to write a novel. At the time, I told friends and colleagues and my parents that I was “just taking a little time off” to work on “some personal creative projects.” I was skirting around it out of fear — fear of being judged, fear of being asked questions I didn’t know the answer to, fear that maybe I was biting off more than I could chew, that I wouldn’t be able to achieve the lofty goal I’d set for myself.
But the biggest fear of all, I’ve learned over the past year, is my fear of being seen and heard. If you have the reading comprehension skills of a fourth grader, you might remember that this author just admitted to an “inner longing to be seen and heard.” So, in other words, the very thing I fear is also the thing I want most. Life is full of high comedy in the form of these endlessly hilarious conundrums!
The messy little words you’re reading have exited my brain and been projectile vomited out onto your screen due to a tweet I saw this morning that had me positively enraged. (Twitter has an adorable way of forcing me to confront the years of anger I’ve repressed in pursuit of a white feminine ideal, can I get an amen?) The content of the tweet was a vile opinion about the police murder of Ma’Khia Bryant, written and published by self-proclaimed “comedian” Tim Dillon, a person I will continue to know as little about as humanly possible.
In processing my emotional response to the tweet, I fell into the comparison trap. I began to resent the fact that this person with his idiotic take has 351.2K followers, while my followers, despite each and every one of them being perfect and brilliant as previously mentioned, only amount to 314. I have things to say! I thought, while self-soothing with a generous handful of Snyder’s Honey Mustard & Onion Pretzel Pieces*. I deserve to say them!
The truth is, I’ve been afraid to speak my mind for most of my life, although it probably hasn’t always seemed this way. I can be very boisterous and opinionated, and I’ve been given the label “sassy” in the past — the classic descriptor bestowed upon young, usually chubby girls who have the audacity to make a joke. What people don’t often see are the hours, and sometimes days, of harsh inner criticism that inevitably come after a bout of unchecked public opining.
I attribute this, at least in part, to societal conditioning. As a girl and a young woman, the goal was to take up as little space as possible. Growing up, on family vacations, I was taught to be absolutely silent in hotel rooms, so as not to disturb other guests. I began my first diet at age twelve, for the purposes of making my ever-chubbier body small and dainty. I have been known to apologize to pieces of furniture when I accidentally run into them. These days, I often refrain from posting online my true feelings about the latest news item of the day, for fear of a future employer or — God forbid — a romantic prospect seeing my thoughts and thinking, Jeez, this girl seems like a handful.
But honestly, simply existing as a container for my emotions has become exhausting. Dealing with the injustices and atrocities we’re exposed to daily without having some kind of outlet for my thoughts makes me feel like I’m a balloon that’s getting pumped with more and more air, being stretched to its limits, and everyone around me is sort of looking around nervously at one another, mouthing is she okay?
So yeah, I’m about to let some air out, so to speak. I have thoughts about pop culture and social media and being queer and writing fiction. I have a growing spiritual side that my friends are tired of hearing about (sorry, guys). And lucky for you, I have a lot of time on my hands to scribble about all of it.
In writing this essay, I’ve been reminded of JLo’s immortal decision to insert the titular line from “Let’s Get Loud” into her rendition of “This Land is Your Land” at President Joseph R. Biden’s inauguration. I’ll be real, I wasn’t super hype about Biden’s big day, but JLo confidently singing “let’s get loud!!!!” at what some would call an inappropriate time and place — it was oddly inspiring to me.
I have taken the last three months to consider her plea and have decided that I will, in fact, be getting loud. I hope you’ll stick around to listen.
*This is not a sponsored post for Snyder’s Honey Mustard & Onion Pretzel Pieces, but I would not reject a sponsorship from Snyder’s should they choose to reach out.
