My Fifteen-Year-Old Self

by Sofia Shklovsky

I cringe at my fifteen year old self — partly at the outfits I would never wear now, the jokes that weren’t funny, and my irksome desire to be liked by the kids I perceived as popular. But, ultimately, I spend the most time ruminating over how disconnected I was from myself. I didn’t understand my anxiety well enough to face it head on, and chose to remain surrounded by people who made me feel inadequate; who didn’t engage with the world in the ways that I wished to. I was diluted. 

This disconnect bled into my daily life. I had no outward impulse to join clubs or activities, or at least not to become an active member. Speaking to teachers or in class was hard. What if I said the wrong thing, and was (dramatic pause) judged for it?! Furthermore, the strongest pieces of my identity hid under the surface. As a freshman or sophomore, I never would have dared to share original songs at open mics in front of my peers. Honestly, I didn’t even tell anyone that I wrote songs; out of fear that nobody would find them good or that I would be ostracized for having this emotional outlet. I knew that the kids I called friends weren’t kind to me most of the time, and that I hadn’t exactly found my people. I dreaded school most days, because I didn’t have anyone to turn to who would make me feel good about myself, or whom I could relate to. My biggest assumption was that this sort of person didn’t exist in my environment. Looking back, I had totally the wrong idea about everything.

The summer before junior year, I asked to see a therapist. This was self-driven, as I came to the epiphany that how I felt was not normal. Loneliness, and the inability to look forward to anything, should not be deemed a natural state. I am so grateful for the privilege of therapy. Talking through my social anxieties out loud shrank them and changed my mindset. Progressively less plagued by the fear of rejection, I began to put myself out there and form bonds with classmates I had never noticed. 

I used to say to my mom that there were no people for me in my small school, and that there was zero point in fighting to make new connections this far down the line. I could not have been more wrong. Looking in the rearview mirror, it’s clear that the true adversity I faced was within the confines of my mind. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. My best friends are wonderful people with whom I have meaningful conversations. They make me feel seen. Walking through the hallway, there’s a profusion of people, students and teachers alike, for me to greet. I speak regularly in class, play my own music in the cafeteria at lunch, and just derive so much joy from being at school. I’ve become somebody I barely even would recognize — someone I like. I’m seventeen years old. My life is not perfect, and I undeniably have copious things to learn and take on in life. Nonetheless, becoming unstuck — open to pushing myself towards a happier outcome — is monumental.