THIS I BELIEVE by Lucy Mills (Essay

THIS I BELIEVE by LUCY MILLS

Sensitive is such a loaded word. Maybe it’s because I’ve heard it used so often in insults throughout my life. Nobody uses the phrase “you’re so sensitive” as a compliment. It’s not a neutral observation, either; it’s a scolding way of telling me o for having feelings that are too big, too intrusive, too dramatic. I naturally express my feelings more than most people, because that’s just how I’m wired. I don’t think I feel particularly more than others; but then again, I guess I wouldn’t know, would I? I only know what’s in my mind and what other people show me, and most other people are better at hiding that.

Better? That’s another loaded word. Betterathiding- that implies that it’s a strength to be

able to do so, and a personal failure on my behalf that I can’t do the same. I’m still learning to view my own vulnerability as a strength. I have a feeling I’ll be doing that for the rest of my life.

But vulnerability as a strength sounds like an oxymoron. Vulnerability is nearly synonymous with weakness in many cases and from many perspectives. And after so long of being encouraged to believe this, I began to wonder: if vulnerability is such a weakness, why does it take so much courage to openly display? This made me realize that the people making me believe this were struggling with how to express their emotions, and rather than admit that, it was easier to put up a stoic front and continue to suppress. And this is why I believe that letting yourself be vulnerable is a strength.

I had these seeds of realization for years before they were really allowed to grow and blossom into a predominant understanding of mine. Unhealthy friendships and exterior stress cast a shadow over the sapling reaching for sunlight, and I felt stuck even when I caught glimpses of

that sunlight because I didn’t have the nutrients to grow. Nutrients being brain chemicals. I guess what I’m trying to say is, in this plant analogy, getting prescribed antidepressants was…fertilizer? Anyway, the hardest person to be vulnerable with is yourself. Finally managing to do that forced me to come to terms with the reality of how I was doing last winter. I wasn’t okay, and hadn’t been for a long time. I wasn’t going to get better if I denied that I wanted to be better.

Some of that denial was subconscious. For so long, I had been used to ignoring my needs for the sake of other people that I lost sight of how to recognize them. I didn’t know how to just look at myself in a moment and understand that I needed to take a break. My friend Sage did.

This past summer, I went to an overnight camp that I had attended previously in 2019. My experience that year was tumultuous, but I met my dear friend Sage during that experience, and reconnecting with them was ultimately the reason I went again. Meeting them for the first time had a huge impact on me already, but the second summer at camp with them facilitated even more growth than the summer before.

It’s funny how small moments can have such an impact. With Sage, it was a simple decision: the decision to sit out of the evening activity on the second day of camp. They had expressed to me feelings of being overwhelmed and burnt out from the constant social activity, something that most of us have trouble with after nearly two years of living in a pandemic. Not to mention that my ADHD, something Sage and I have in common, tends to make that kind of thing an issue anyway. Seeing Sage acknowledge these feelings and needs and choosing to rest in the nurse’s oce for the evening struck me with the sudden realization

that I needed that too. I hadn’t taken a moment to slow down and consider my own feelings too deeply yet, but whatever subconscious barrier was keeping these unnoticed was knocked down and opened the floodgates to express the feelings I’d been hiding through tears.

I cried a lot during those two weeks at camp. It was a little embarrassing, actually; it was often over abstract things like that. And I’ll admit - being vulnerable doesn’t often FEEL strong. It can make you feel weak. I’m sure it’s got something to do with instinct. But being vulnerable when I needed to be gave me the strength to do things I hadn’t been able to before. I stood up for things I felt were unfair at the camp, like the dress code that prevented girls from wearing two piece swimsuits. Despite insistence from my peers that it wasn’t worth making a big deal about, my counselors told me that it wouldn’t hurt to try. And it didn’t. My advocacy was heard by the right person at the right time, and because I spoke up, I encouraged the camp director to change this policy in the future. It may have been a small victory, but it meant the world to me.

Triumphs like that didn’t come to me when I didn’t grant myself grace for the things I was feeling. Letting myself have those moments of weakness made me strong when I needed to be. Back when I felt ashamed of my vulnerability, when I felt like it was a weakness, I tended to come o as extremely negative. I didn’t have the space to acknowledge my feelings in a healthy way, so I’d dwell on them at all times and it showed.

I have a healthier relationship with myself now; that taught me how to have healthy relationships with others. I don’t hide from my sensitive nature, and I have friends who help

me to feel comfortable being vulnerable with them. I can do this because I’m vulnerable with myself.

And the connotation of vulnerability has taken on a new meaning in my eyes. Now it doesn’t only mean moments of weakness where I crack and can’t help but pour out everything negative that I’m feeling. I can feel good things too. I can feel love for my friends, and I can express that now more than ever. “I love you” is the vulnerable phrase that I used to have more trouble with than anything, and now I love to remind my friends. “I love you” is almost always followed up by “I love you too;” it’s like the phrase grants silent permission to express a feeling that carries so much more weight when said alone. Just like when my friend Sage, who allowed themselves to slow down and feel their feelings, unknowingly reminded me with that action that I was allowed to do the same. I want the people I love to treat themselves well, and eventually I realized that I needed to do the same for myself. Being vulnerable when it’s most dicult taught me to value and love myself, every part of myself, and it’s made me stronger than I’ve ever been. My vulnerability is the greatest strength I have; this I believe.

2022

Special thank you to Mr. Schrader for supporting our creative writing class in this magazine ’ s

production and being a great teacher :)