Is this beautiful?

The​ ​summer​ ​before​ ​11th​ ​grade,​ ​I​ ​​lost​ ​my​ ​voice.​ ​My vocal chords still rubbed together to produce sound, but my inner voice was gone. I​ was consumed by​ ​the desire to make a single person ​happy — trying​ ​to​ ​be​ ​as​ ​pretty​ ​as he​ ​wished,​ ​being​ ​on​ ​call for​ ​him ​24/7,​ ​even​ ​if​ ​it​ ​meant ​sacrificing​ ​sleep,​ ​money,​ ​time,​ ​and energy ​for his happiness in place of mine.​ ​School​ ​and​ ​violin​ ​always​ ​made​ ​me​ ​happy,​ ​but​ ​when​ ​he criticized me — ​You’re​ ​a​ ​nerd,​ ​Stop​ ​being​ ​so​ ​smart, or Stop​ ​playing​ ​the violin​,​ ​it’s lame​​ — it was​​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​my​ ​head​ ​up.​ Because​ ​what​ ​if​ ​my peers​ ​saw me ​that​ ​way too?​ ​​I’d ​always​ ​heard​ ​that​ ​relationships​ ​were​ ​supposed​ ​to be about lifting each other up, so ​I was​ ​embarrassed​ ​that​ ​my​ ​relationship​ ​wasn’t.​ And​ ​I​ ​pretended ​because I thought ​that’s​ ​what​ ​people​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​see.

“You’re​ ​a​ ​nerd,​ ​Stop​ ​being​ ​so​ ​smart, Stop​ ​playing​ ​the violin​,​ ​it’s lame​​.”

I was tempted to stay in this toxic relationship because ​I felt​ ​like​ ​there​ ​was​ ​nobody to confide in. Growing​ ​up​ in my school,​ ​I​ ​didn’t​ ​feel​ ​pretty​ ​because,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​sea​ ​of​ ​white,​ ​who would consider black?​ ​That’s​ ​not​ ​beautiful.​ ​Right?​

“That’s​ ​not​ ​beautiful.​ ​Right?”

I felt like my teachers couldn’t empathize with the experience of a young black woman. Day after day, I’d go through the motions, a single thought drumming in my head: ​

​“What​ ​is​ ​so​ ​wrong​ ​with​ ​me?”

I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, and my grades plummeted. When​ ​I​ ​finally​ broke​ off ​the​ ​relationship​,​ I thought ​my problem was over.​ ​But​ ​it​ ​wasn’t. The negative self-talk persisted. Months after the relationship ended, the thought still lingered:

​“What​ ​is​ ​so​ ​wrong​ ​with​ ​me?”

“I thought ​my problem was over.​ ​But​ ​it​ ​wasn’t.”

Then​ ​I​ ​met​ ​Janie.​ ​Janie​ ​was​ ​my​ ​confidant.​ ​I​ ​could​ ​connect​ ​with​ ​her ​and​​ ​look up​ ​to​ ​her​ ​because​ ​she​ ​was​ ​just​ ​like​ ​me — a young, mixed-race woman trying to navigate toxic relationships in a world that didn’t appreciate her.​ ​Janie​ ​taught​ ​me​ ​to​ reclaim my voice ​and​ ​to​ ​appreciate​ ​myself​ ​​for​ ​the​ ​powerful things​ ​I ​can​​ ​do.​ ​​Just as​ ​my​ ​ex-boyfriend​ ​had​ ​done​ ​to​ ​me, Janie’s ​first husband​ ​pretended ​to love​ ​her​ ​​and​ ​treated​ ​her​ ​as​ ​if​ ​nobody​ ​else​ ​would want​ ​her.​ ​So​ ​she​ ​left.​ ​Her​ second husband​, out of jealousy, made​ ​her​ ​cover​ ​her​ ​gorgeous hair​ and ​shamed her​ ​for​​ ​expressing ​her​ ​opinion. For me, trying to start a conversation about a recent social justice issue or Awkwafina, my favorite underground female rapper, was impossible. I was shut down at any hint of my enthusiasm. As​ ​soon​ ​as​ ​Janie​ ​found​ ​the person​ ​who​ ​would​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​her and value her as an equal, she​ ​knew​ ​she had ​found​ true companionship. Seeing her achieve fulfillment made me recognize what​ ​I deserved.​ ​Janie​ ​taught​ ​me​ ​how​ ​to​ ​be​ ​my​ ​own caring, authentic, ​unstoppable,​ ​fearless woman,​ ​and​ ​how​ ​to​ separate my needs from others’ expectations.​ ​Janie​ ​taught​ ​me​ ​how​ ​to​ ​let my​ ​hair​ ​down​ ​again.​ ​

“Janie​ ​taught​ ​me​ ​how​ ​to​ ​be​ ​my​ ​own caring, authentic, ​unstoppable,​ ​fearless woman.”

Here’s the thing about Janie. I​ ​met​ ​her​ ​in​ ​a​ ​book.​ ​Zora​ ​Neale​ ​Hurston​ ​created her,​ ​it​ ​seemed,​ ​just​ ​for​ ​me.​ Their Eyes Were Watching God ​turned​ ​my​ ​life​ ​around. Now,​ ​I​ ​approach​ ​all​ ​my​ ​relationships — platonic​,​ ​familial​,​ ​professional — with​ ​a​ ​delicate​ ​balance​ ​between​ making ​my​ ​voice​ ​​heard​ ​and ​listening​ ​to ​others.​ ​Intellectual​ ​conversations and​ ​the notes of Tchaikovsky​ ​are​ ​just as worthy ​as​ ​the​ ​newest​ NBA 2K release. Poring over​ ​Langston​ ​Hughes,​ ​Maya​ ​Angelou,​ ​and​ ​Emily​ ​Dickinson​ ​is​ ​just​ ​as​ ​hip​ ​as​ ​knowing​ ​all the​ ​words​ ​to​ ​the​ ​newest​ ​21​ ​Savage​ ​song.​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​have​ ​to​ ​always​ ​set aside​ ​my​ ​happiness and​ ​feelings​ ​to​ ​accommodate​ ​others​.​ I don’t have to suppress my intellect to make others feel bigger. Speaking my truth, authentically, will ensure my own true, healthy happiness.

“Speaking my truth, authentically, will ensure my own true, healthy happiness.”

Austin Fitzgerald, UChicago Class of 2022

Austin Fitzgerald is a first-year student at the University of Chicago. She is planning to major in Anthropology while following the Pre-Health track. Originally from Charlotte, NC, she founded a non-profit called MindStrings which offers free violin lessons and orchestral support to under-resourced schools in an effort to address the social and economic mobility issue in her city and hopes to expand to Chicago. She also has served as a leader for her high school’s diversity club in addition to attending the 2015 Student Diversity Leadership Conference and helping plan and facilitate the annual Affirming Community Together Conference for Charlotte Area middle schools to learn about diversity and social justice.

Photos by Eli Jenkinson (@elijphoto).