The Loud Mind of a Quiet Girl

Existing silently in a constantly buzzing world is much more exhausting than you would think it is.

Trust me, I would know. I’ve kept to myself my entire life. I’m sure you can picture it: the quiet girl with her nose in a book, her eyes obscured by bangs in such a way that you question if she can even see. She doesn’t notice the happenings around her. If she does, she doesn’t comment on them.

You can’t tell if it’s simply indifference or because she’s so absorbed in her escape to a world so separated from her own that she’s lost touch. Or maybe she’s just beyond her years, so young but already knowing exactly what to expect from the people around her. Of course, there’s always the possibility that she’s just oblivious.

Growing up in a small rural town, I’ve been looked at from that point of view my entire life. I was always an outlier. I always thought I’d escape the feeling that I’m weird once I reached adulthood but, even now, I still haven’t met “my people”. Every day, I skirt around the probing questions of people trying to get in. I want to remain in the background.

I don’t enjoy it as much as you’d think I would. Constantly, I find myself wanting to scream out my innermost thoughts to the public. I’m the quiet girl, sure. Like most people though, I still feel a deep desire to be heard. One that only dissipates when I’m writing.

Here, I don’t need to concern myself with pleasantries. I don’t have to look you in the eyes and introduce myself. By the time you finish reading this, you’ll know more about me than my own family, but you wouldn’t recognize me if you spotted me out in public. I’m not known, but I’m known. It doesn’t have to make sense. It's how I feel. It’s how I was known too. When I was in school, at least.

That is, until something completely shifted in my mind at age fifteen. I’m not entirely sure what happened. I suppose I entirely buckled under the pressure of upcoming adulthood.

What did I want to do for a living? I had no idea. I was a creative, but I knew I wasn’t capable enough to turn any of my projects into a career. I couldn’t picture myself being happy doing anything else though. The walls seemed to be closing in so quickly. So, I just decided to go with the safest option. I would put the hours of effort I once spent into my art into science and math. They would hold me up.

I started college (a science major, of course) with this same mindset. That I could be successful... if I just forced myself to do something I hated. As you can imagine, I flunked out before I could even decide how I felt about my classes. I failed.

And that brings me to this exact moment in time. I just turned twenty. I am sitting at my desk, fingers working away at my keyboard, golden sun rays peeking from the pale clouds and streaming through my window. And I have never felt more lost. I feel so lost, in fact, that I turned to an empty Word document so that I could speak again for the first time in years. I can feel my ideas organizing in my head as I watch each white line steadily form with each clack of a key.

I felt disappointed upon typing the first few sentences. For some reason, I expected myself to have somehow dramatically improved from that night when I decided to give up. I thought my writing would be wiser. After all, I’m an adult now.

But no. I am stunted. I feel fifteen again.

That’s just what happens when you abandon the things you love. You lose sight of everything that ever made you yourself. You become a vessel, cursed to remain as one until you find them again.

But I guess that’s just what being in your twenties is. These years are for figuring out who you are, for holding on to the things you love. These years are for meeting yourself again.

I don’t think I’ve met the real Tirzah yet. I’m excited to grow acquainted with her. I’m sure she’ll continue to grow. In ten years, she’ll be totally different. I just hope she doesn’t try to let go of something that helps her express herself in ways she otherwise finds impossible.

After all, us quiet girls have pretty loud minds.