There’s been a growing emptiness inside of me since the moment I walked off the field in Lucas Oil Stadium back in November. It was the type of emptiness characterized by knowledge; the type that you know it was your last time walking off the field even as your heart pounded pride. And that pride was the type that carried a passion like no other; one that sang dedication, commitment, and sacrifice.
I tried stopping it as best as I could. Through jumping rope to the clicks of a metronome and practicing despite no class to spending the entire day at a fundraiser and cleaning the room that felt like home. I even went the extent to applying for leadership so I could package my passion into an essay of remembrance. But I sobbed; sobbed like a baby as I emptied an entire tissue box. Throw in some outside pressures, and all I could do was continue to cry uncontrollably.
The emptiness started to verge loneliness as no one seemed to have an unbiased opinion towards what I should do. My indecision was once again becoming a hubris. So I dyed my hair a darker shade in hopes of change. Others took strongly to the dramatic jump as I loathed it to the point of stripping dye out two days later.
By the time I was supposed to have a final decision, all I had was frustration towards myself, time, and biased opinions of others nagging the shit out of me. I had very few people I could turn to without being harshly judged about considering one option or the other so their words became the words that soothed my troubled mind to sleep each night. The choice I was making couldn’t be weighed out into positives and negatives as each had a separate weight value shifting the scale uncontrollably.
As I prepared for my final, most rigorous final of sophomore year, I prepared the paperwork so I’d be ready for whatever side my mind oscillated to during the final. I was both physically ill and mentally exhausted by this point with only one thing on my mind; to get the ~120 question final over with sufficiently. Roughly an hour in was when my mind began to wander between gas laws and reflecting back on the year. The nature of the Chemistry exam caused my mind to think both logically and progressively beyond calculating the amount of zinc oxide produced by 100 grams of its’ two components. Sophomore year was a lot better to me than freshman year was and the quality of the people I got surrounded with skyrocketed—they made me happier than I ever made myself and gave me a reason to keep going.
Shortly after I turned in the exam, I locked eyes with the bathroom mirror as I proclaimed, “Well. I made it to Junior Year.” as if doing so was the only way to make the transition complete. I couldn’t help but to realize how far I’ve come since freshman year.
My green eyes were no longer filled with fear as much as they were with trust.
The mousy brown/blonde wavy jungle had been replaced by a color similar to the one sported by Donna from “That 70’s Show”.
I looked stronger; as if my constant perseverance was displayed in the form of a higher self esteem pushing my shoulders back and keeping my hips centered.
What looked to be graphite stains under my eyes just reminded me of why I began calling myself “Momma Flute”.
Everything in my life seemed to finally fall into proportions as I noticed something different emerging from the bathroom mirror; a sliver of a smile. And at that moment, I knew what choice I had to make.
When it came down to it; knowing nature prefers high enthrapy contributed significantly—something I refuse to take toll on pursuing two highly anticipated AP classes, my own self worth(what freshman season was like), and silencing my mom who was completely against my continuation of the program.
Although I ceased my membership, I refuse to cease my connection to the people that I “mothered”. They mean the world to me so I’m going to do everything in my power to show my constant support for their continuation in the program. From the moment I met them, they automatically trusted and looked up to me as if I had all the answers when I only had the willpower. No matter how many times they turned to me for motivation, I always saw them as a source of inspiration; to push myself harder to benefit them.