Discovering that my Voice Matters
By Veronica Holmes
I always carried a notebook with me everywhere I went. I never knew what would happen or what the day’s experience would be, but I would always have my notebook ready. As a young girl, I was very shy and observant. I never talked much, so writing became a form of expression for me. Through words, I was able to artistically express my emotions, thoughts, and feelings. However, it took me a while to become comfortable in sharing my writing with others. I was always afraid of how people would view my writing. Would they laugh? Would they even understand?
When I was in middle school, my writing teacher gave us writing prompts to complete for the first ten minutes of class. I would always tweak the prompt and basically write something totally different from the rest of the class. I didn’t like feeling restricted or put in a box when writing.
It was one particular week — I can’t remember what the prompt was — but my grandfather was heavy on my mind. That morning, I received news that he’d been admitted into the hospital after being rushed to the emergency room. As a concerned granddaughter with so many things running through my mind, I wrote. In those ten minutes of writing, words spilled out onto the paper. When the timer rang, I couldn’t stop. My pencil kept moving, and words kept falling from my heart and onto my notebook. It was just me, my heart, and my notebook. As my classmates began sharing what they wrote, I kept writing. I had so much more to say. My writing teacher knew my heart was heavy, so she let me continue writing while the others read their stories. Any other time, she would make me stop writing as soon as the timer rang. She considered it rude not to give my classmates my undivided attention — but this day was an exception. When everyone finished reading, the room fell silent and everyone looked at me. They wanted to hear this story that I’d written so passionately. Their anticipation forced me to stop writing and just share. I couldn’t hold back now. They were waiting.
After class, my teacher talked to me about entering the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards writing competition. She was very serious and confident as she talked about the competition and how excellent my piece was. She believed in my writing more than I did. Because of her, I entered the competition with my poem titled Vertigo that I wrote about my grandfather who suffered from hearing loss after experiencing Vertigo. I didn’t understand what Vertigo was or how my grandfather lost his hearing, but I wanted to write from what I did know — my grandfather overcame it. Months went by, and my teacher received an email saying I received a Gold Key award for my poem. I was shocked, surprised, and stunned. I didn’t know a poem about a girl who loved her grandfather would be worthy of such an award. It was the first time I’d ever been recognized for my writing. Soon after, I started entering writing competitions and received numerous awards. Although it took me a while to gain confidence in my voice, it was well worth it.
My writing is sacred to me now. My voice matters. I now understand that my voice is powerful and deserves to be heard.
Maya Angelou once said, “Write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.” That’s exactly what I hope to do — inspire, impact, encourage, and motivate through my writing. As a young black girl, I want to inspire other young black girls who feel they have no voice.
“Write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.”
In 2020, I had writer’s block. I always wrote about what was going on around me and what I’d observed and seen. And in a crazy year like 2020, when there was so much going on, I couldn’t gather the strength to sit and write. I received countless emails about writing competitions. Many I turned down, because I had nothing to say. Then I thought about how powerful words can be. I pushed through and just wrote down everything I was feeling, even if it didn’t make sense or wasn’t poetic. Those raw emotions were later published in the local newspaper, and thousands of people read those words and gained hope. When I thought my writing was unworthy, people reached out and said otherwise. Many were inspired and touched, and that’s when I discovered my purpose.
It’s motivating to see young black girls who look like me grace the podium at the Presidential Inauguration and eloquently address the nation. And while Amanda Gorman spoke, my mother walked in my room, looked at me, smiled and said, “That’s going to be you next.”
This article was written by Veronica Holmes for LOVE Girls Magazine and has been archived onto our Medium for easier online reading. Please consider supporting the magazine through financial or volunteer donations.
