Act of Courage

This is a journal from an assignment in CRLS’ Immersion Journalism class. Gracie’s entire blog can be viewed here.

I pledge to read a creative writing assignment in front of my class as well as my boyfriend.

My hands grew clammy. My knee began bouncing beneath my desk. My skin grew hot. My heartbeat grew faster. My vision became blurry.

I didn’t know when I was going to get up, but copies were already in everyone’s hands to read. They could see all that was there and anything that was left between the lines. They could see it all. They still have it now.

My breath was coming faster now. My chest was filling with pressure, growing to unknown measure. My mind was racing.

Mr. Jordan was speaking, but it was as if nothing he was saying could reach my ears. He seemed so very far away despite being only a few feet from me. I needed to return to reality. And then, I realized he was saying my name,“Grace will be reading a creative writing assignment.” He announced it without a second thought.

Although nervous and somewhat terrified about what was to come, my mind seemed to pause only at “Grace.” Grace, a name that had been legally given to me at birth despite my parents wanting to just call me Gracie. It was always, “Grace is for when you’re older and don’t want to go by Gracie anymore.” It seemed as though I was living a nickname. I was the child who had yet to reach her adultness. Because of this, neither name stuck in my head. I told people that my name was Gracie, but then they called me Grace anyway. And now, Mr. Jordan is probably reading this and thinking that he made a mistake. No, it’s really confusing. It’s only one letter, and you see it everyday as Grace as part of my email and Aspen.

My mind kept spinning on the matter. Over and over as I stood up to walk to the front. Again, as I walked there, and again, as I turned to face the class.

My skin grew hot again. Everyone was looking at me. That normally doesn’t bother me, but when I am forced to watch so many people react to something so personal, it does.

The classroom was quiet as Mr. Jordan told me to begin.

The bell rang just as I began the first word, just my luck. I waited, and then, I slowly began to read. Each time I tripped over a word, the next one was harder. I hadn’t read this piece in months, and even then, I had only read it over once or twice. Consequently, each time I met a word that I would now like to change, the judgement that I placed on myself began to wear me down.

I was still shaking fifteen minutes later.

It was hard, so very hard, but I need that kind of pressure. I need to be more open to criticism, otherwise I will never get better. I need to allow myself to ask others to read my work, and give me their honest opinions. I need to let the piece just be a piece, a part of me, but a part of me that can grow and change. It doesn’t define me.