Quiet

I wasn’t always the silent kid. Growing up my parents struggled to keep me in check. I was the rambunctious toddler, the uncontrollable type who threw a fit whenever I couldn’t get what I wanted. I was intrigued by the world, yelling at my mom to ride the mall escalator over and over again. 

So, what changed?

From preschool to the 7th grade, I attended seven different schools. I grew tired of trying to make friends because I knew I was going to have to make new ones after a year. I started speaking less in school, and I stayed home on the weekends. My older sister, on the other hand, took this as an opportunity to make even more friends, and her social skills flourished.

My family had a close group of friends who also had children around our age. However, all their sons were my sister’s age, while their daughters were my age. It was hard for me to fit in with the other boys, so I usually ended up playing board/card games with the girls. I got bullied. I was being too feminine, I was told. My voice was too high pitched, I didn’t like being rowdy with the other boys. I came to hate our family hangouts.

I tried talking to my parents, but they saw it as a masculinity issue. I should be rough and rowdy back at them. They didn’t hear or consider the words I said. I started talking even less. My parents wondered why I was so quiet all the time. They thought something was wrong with me. My voice got so quiet that even when I was speaking, someone would start talking over me because I wasn’t heard. I began to bottle up my thoughts and my feelings.

People thought of me as this mysterious introvert. The shy guy who opened his mouth only when eating. Looking back, it definitely seems like some people only talked to me out of social pity. They wanted to put on their agenda "I became friends with the quiet guy." I grew into a good listener and acted as a sort of therapist/mediator for my friends. They would pour out their thoughts and emotions, which I simply took in, unable to share my own. 

To this day I carry around what seems like a clamp around my neck. I try to build up the courage to speak more in front of people, but then I falter and the courage dissipates. My parents still don’t know why I am so quiet. I’ve never had the courage to tell them because they see themselves as having brought my sister and me up right. I still love them dearly and don’t hold any resentment towards them. We simply live in different times and different cultures. They also would not want to acknowledge that their child has mental issues for if that were the case, it meant bad parenting. [https://firstgencourse.blogspot.com/2022/09/how-my-parents-gave-me-anxiety-disorder.html]

My parents always pointed out if someone's child they knew had problems or if my sister and I were outperformed by others. In other words, they were and are very critical people. Typically for me, I was compared to the rambunctiousness of other children. The burning question my parents constantly asked me, "Why can't you be more like them?" I shrugged off the question, avoiding the truth because it would only lead to arguments. 

There is no perfect family, and while I am not fond of my childhood experiences, they've created the person I am today. 

In spite of an upbringing that silenced me, there are certain values I hold dear. One of them is being able to say what you want to. Before I moved to California for law school, I got lunch with a friend who spoke so passionately about issues in U.S. politics until stopping mid-sentence to apologize for talking about such a boring topic. I’ve reflected on this moment many times, wishing I told her not to apologize and to continue speaking with the fervor she had been. No one should ever feel sorry for talking about their passions.

By taking baby steps I am trying to get better at talking. While terrifying, law school cold calls are definitely - ironically - helping me find my voice.