Finding My Place, Finding My Voice, Finding Myself

I’m learning you cannot always plan out your life.

 

As many of you know, last September, I lost my grandmother. What many of you don’t know is that by last September, I was completely lost. My college experience has been rough, and not at all what I expected it to be. By the time fall 2019 rolled around, I didn’t recognize myself – not physically, not spiritually, not emotionally, and not logically.  I had been sick most of the year and would continue being sick well into the next few months. Though I was never given a diagnosis, that illness drastically altered my life. I had lost contact with many of the people I had considered friends, since I did not have the energy to keep in contact with them for almost a year. Losing my grandma in September was rough, but physically, I was not sick for some of that month. That trip to Ohio was a time where things started to look like they were turning around.

 

On that trip back for my grandmother’s funeral, one of my cousins drove us through Ohio University’s campus on the way back to their house. Somehow that car ride progressed into an idea and plan for me to transfer to Ohio University for the 2020-2021 year to finish my degree at the “family” school. I was excited at the possibility of seeing my young cousins grow up and the opportunities to meet new people and make new friends in a new place, a place I have always considered home. The plans were made, I registered for classes about a month ago, and all of my belongings are boxed up around my room, ready to move.

 

But even the best plans can fall apart.

 

I had been planning on moving in with my uncle, who is in his 60s with pre-existing health conditions. The closer I got to my actual move-in date, the more anxious I was becoming, and the more selfish I felt. Not about the move or the new school – those things I had been looking forward to for almost a year. I was worried about going to class and picking up the coronavirus and giving it to my uncle. A couple of years ago, my uncle had been in the hospital, and that image of him in a hospital bed kept popping up in my head. I did not want to be the cause of that image. I had started having anxiety attacks again over it, which I had not had in years.

 

Life in a pandemic is hard. It is hard for all of us. It’s changing plans. I don’t want to complain about my changed plans, because in the vast changes of plans this pandemic has brought, mine are pretty inconsequential. None of my loved ones have been on a ventilator or died from this pandemic. There are 140,000+ people in America alone who have died from this, many of whom were alone when they died and could not be seen by their loved ones afterwards. Thousands of others have potentially life-long implications from having the virus. On top of that, others are facing unemployment, loss of health insurance, some are struggling to feed their families, and others are facing evictions. In light of all of that, I do not want to complain about my change of plans. It isn’t what I expected, but it will be okay. I’m lucky that my biggest change is truly just the college I am attending.  

 

Honestly? When I look back over this year, it is tough. Just as I was physically starting to no longer be sick, the world shut down for a pandemic. I wonder, if I had to be sick for about a year, why couldn’t it have been this year, with everything shut down anyway? But these last couple of months, I have started to feel more like myself again.

 

I have started to find my place. It’s no secret that Nebraska hasn’t ever truly felt like home for me. But I’m finally embracing that for now, it is home. My family is here, and I love being around them. I’ve actually met some new people recently, which I had forgotten was a possibility. I’ve caught up with some friends from the past too, which has been nice. I’m feeling a bit more like I might actually belong, like I’m actually on my way to having a place right where I am, wherever I am. I’m learning to own the space I am in.

 

I am finding my voice again. The past year, I didn’t feel much like my voice mattered. In the past couple of months, I have remembered how important it is for me to speak out on what I’m passionate about. I don’t need to (and shouldn’t) over-talk others or drown out others’ voices, especially BIPOC voices, but by speaking out myself, I can elevate others. I care deeply about changing this world, I always have. George Floyd’s death and the protests that followed did not “open my eyes” to the major, structural issues in this country. I remember visiting some of the sites Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had been in Montgomery, Alabama when I was in early high school, and how livid I was to see a confederate flag flying at a building across the street. The first years I spent at college touring the state’s correctional facilities and hearing from various speakers is what really lit the fire in me to change what I saw happening around me and helped me recognize more practical ways to make change. Taking to the streets and protesting has helped remind me of the power in speaking out. Though I feel older every day, I’m relatively young, but that doesn’t mean I cannot make change. Many of the people around me at the protests I have gone to have been younger than me, and their words inspire me to do more. In the midst of illness and isolation last year, I had forgotten to speak out much. But in using my voice again, I’m starting to find myself again.

 

Finding myself is an ever-going project. I want to continue to grow, change, and learn new things about myself throughout my life. However, I am starting to feel more like I know who I am again. The past couple of months, I have felt more comfortable in my skin, more grounded, and more like I know what it truly means to “be me” again. I am not doing what I thought I would be doing. I’m not in a packed-up car on my way to Ohio like I had planned all year. But I still feel excited for the future, ready to find ways to make change in this world. 

And that’s all I really can ask for if I am staying true to myself.

- Hannah Michelle