Hey, Little One. They’re Going To Tell You To Lower Your Voice. Ignore Them.

All my life, I’ve been told to lower my voice. 

Growing up as the youngest of five, I constantly fought for attention, validation and a chance to be noticed. 

I was born with a range of emotions deeper and wider than a lot of children from my generation. With that, comes an innate tenderness that colors my life. I often tear up from joy while listening to beautiful music because it’s so wonderful it hurts.  But it’s not just the wonderful that hurts – every Easter I shield my eyes from “Passion of the Christ” because every stroke of the whip on Jesus’ back feels like it is physically happening to me. 

I’m grateful for these traits now because experience has taught me to use them as tools for empathy. As a child, though, I felt overwhelmed by the constant swings from euphoria to despair. 

How does that song go?

When you’re up, you’re up, and when you’re down, you’re down. 

That was me to a T. 

And because I was sandwiched between a forceful, matter-of-fact older sister and a calm, unruffled twin, I often felt alone in both my exuberance and my gloom.

Hence, my feelings spilling over into noise. 

A lot of noise. 

Amplifying my voice was my way of fighting against being overlooked: 

Please tell me I’m beautiful. 

Please tell me I’m special. 

Please tell me I’m talented. 

As my voice got louder and louder, so did the reprimands. 

“Shhh.”

“Goodness gracious, use your inside voice.”

“Calm down. Give people a personal bubble.”

Or my personal favorite. My 4^th grade teacher delivered this gem mockingly every class period, fanning herself like a flamingo dancer to get me to “cool down”: 

“Sasha, is your poor blood pressure going up?”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“Do you need to take your blood pressure medicine?”

No, Shannon. I was just excited about the fact that I knew the history trivia.

 Also… I’m 9, and my heart is fine, thanks?

I realized soon enough what she meant. 

Life isn’t often shaped well for someone who values connection over success. 

So I stopped trying to be heard and focused on being impressive. That became my armor: ten years of achievement.

Ten years of being the top of my class. Ten years of seeing an 89 as a failure and a 98 as two points I missed. Yeah, I took the ACT 5 times (shoutout standardized tests, they’re great for the validation-obsessed). Yeah, I glared at one of my best friends who beat me out for salutatorian because third isn’t good enough. 

What a shame I managed my image so much that I said what I thought was acceptable instead of what I knew to be true. 

What a shame I was so focused on earning love instead of resting in it. So many friendships never made it off the ground. 

Coming to Union over two years ago initially felt like a continuation of my high school identity. I vowed anew never to be the one that was too much. Instead, I just wanted to be the one who did the work and was praised for it. 

That is, as long as the work wasn’t vulnerable for me. 

I didn’t know it then, but the problem actually wasn’t my voice, my achievement, or my longing for closeness. I simply hadn’t found a space where all three could intertwine. 

Enter journalism.

I learned quickly that as a writer and communicator, vulnerability is a choice that you often must take to be excellent. In this craft, you have to take risks. You have to use your voice. 

And voice is rewarded. 

 I’ll never forget seeing the “Cardinal & Cream Editorial Staff Position Offer” byline show up on my email screen. (Dr. Martin, lo siento mucho for not paying attention in Spanish. I was vibrating).

You know what grieves me now? The fact that my first thought was, “Why in the world would they ask me?”

For one of the first times in my life, I didn’t have to throw elbows for a spot to belong.

Journalism, for me, puts a bandage on an open wound because my voice on the page is never called “too much” or “too expressive”. In fact, my voice counts now because I have been clear and honest about how much I truly felt from the very beginning.

Being a part of this magazine staff has been one of my biggest college blessings because I feel completely free to be myself, crazy emotions and all. 

I am constantly challenged to grow as both a writer, editor, and mentor to those that are just a bit behind where I am.

And it balances the three things that I treasure most: fellowship with others (staff MarioKart race, anyone?), growth in myself and a chance to share stories that matter.

As someone who once struggled for connection and belonging, I say the world will always need shared experiences memorialized in black and white.

Whether it is a trusted take on world chaos or on the birth of a celebrity baby, journalism is not just simply trading information. It is creating bonds through story that transcend space and time. 

Most importantly, it reminds us we’re never alone in both joy and grief, love and loss, longing and desperation.

“Oh, you felt that too?”

Journalism is more than just a job for me. It’s a place to process my feelings safely and to encourage others to do the same.  It gives a voice to the voiceless. It celebrates improvement. And it connects us together. 

It’s my home.