Lucien's Lil Nook

I only had school friends – friends where you talk about your day but nothing personal. I never made plans with them outside of school; I only talked to them inside of it. Moving from a Montessori environment that valued independence and creative freedom to a public school with far more work and structure had its benefits, but was extremely challenging. Also, at home, I was dealing with the divorce of my parents.

I was being acclimated to a new way of life at every level, with virtually no meaningful feedback or support system. And I was too scared to seek advice. I had no one to talk about the stress, anxiety, and sadness I was experiencing, so instead, I turned to writing. I had notebooks piled on notebooks in my room, memoirs of my anxiety and frustration, but also of elation and laughter. I wrote everything down. It was a form of expression for me to talk about my problems without burdening anyone. I wanted to be proactive in making friends and joining more clubs, I just did not have any motivation to do so. I chose seclusion rather than seeking approval because I didn’t want to burden others. But I dwelled in only what I knew, and that was doubt and self-hatred. I swam in it like honey and at times could barely hold myself up to breathe. Even though writing originally provided relief, it became an unhealthy escape.

Arriving at high school, I saw a healthier medium for expression in the theater. While researching the story behind an obscure character I had to play in acting class, I realized I had to get real — to analyze not only the characters I portrayed but myself as well. Then I hit a realization. Acting was not new to me; I have always been acting. I am good at being a mirror reflecting what others expect me to be. Putting other people’s wants in front of my needs, I became a reflection of what they wanted from me, but this limited my self-discovery.

At the beginning of junior year, I was cast in ​Love/Sick, a play written by John Cariani. When we had our first meeting to read over the script, I was extremely nervous. Although I knew everyone in the room, they were only acquaintances. Reading the script together, we began to share laughter, sadness, and even mistakes. It was the first time I felt like I was part of a community. I felt safe, I felt secure. And I felt like I belonged to something bigger.

My journey coming out of my shell and becoming myself didn’t happen all on one night. I still struggle with emotional vulnerability. I still catch myself being a mirror, a reflection of another person, as a defense to what I don’t want them to see: how much I hurt. Fortunately,​ ​​my first real friends truly see me and want me to be heard. They want to know my problems and how I’m really feeling. They don’t care if it is miniscule or too large to handle. They listen. I’m discovering how to be authentic. When I serve as a clear, honest mirror to my friends, I can see myself more clearly, too.

Each time I play a new character onstage, it feels like I am both discovering more about me and also writing a new story with a larger group of people. We tell the story over and over, each time making it our own, each time finding something new within ourselves to integrate and express together. Continuously discovering new ways to insert ourselves into the narratives we tell keeps them alive. Acting as an authentic mirror, I have returned to writing. But now I write to see myself more clearly.