Still Loud, Just Wiser Pt. 1

Before I knew how broken the world could be. Before I learned how sharp words can cut, or how silence can scream. Before I started shrinking myself to make space for other people’s comfort. There was just… me.

And she was wild in the softest, most curious way.

I don’t mean outgoing or loud in the way people think of extroverts. I wasn’t performing for anyone. But I was unafraid. I didn’t hesitate when the world offered me something new. I didn’t flinch at what was different. I didn’t wait for permission to be interested. I wanted to know things. Everything. Even the shit no one thought I should know yet.

Sometimes, that backfired. Sometimes I found out things my heart and mind weren’t ready to carry. But still, I’d rather know than not. That was always my way.

I was maybe three years old the first time I remember being punished for holding on too tight to something I loved. We went to a pumpkin patch to pick out our Halloween pumpkins. I found mine, this fat little thing with a long stem.

And I was in love. The problem was, I couldn’t really carry it. I kept trying to hold it by the stem and it was too heavy, so I kept dropping it. My mom and dad kept telling me: “Put the pumpkin down.” But I didn’t want to. It was mine. I wasn’t letting go.

So, I got in trouble. Carried all the way home, still refusing to give up the damn pumpkin. And I remember being told to lay down and take a nap like I was being punished just for being stubborn. But really, I wasn’t trying to defy anyone. I just didn’t understand why something that made me happy, something I picked and loved, had to be put down because I wasn’t carrying it the way someone else thought I should.

Looking back now, it’s wild that was such a hill to die on, for all of us. Nobody said, “Hey, here’s how you carry it better.” Nobody said, “Let’s figure it out together.” It was just: do what I said. And me, even at three, saying: nah. I’m not built like that.

The second story I want to share doesn’t even come with a memory of my own, but it lives in the family lore. We went strawberry picking. Again, outside, in the fields, picking fruit. (Apparently, that was the vibe of my early childhood.)

At some point, I went missing. Full-on missing. Everyone panicked. And eventually, they found me tucked under a strawberry bush, in the shade, just eating berries. Not worried. Not scared. Just vibing. Because it was hot, and I was tired, and the strawberries were good. So I made myself comfortable.

That’s the part of me I’ve spent the last few years trying to get back to. The part that doesn’t need to be told it’s okay to rest. The part that doesn’t wait for approval before choosing joy. The part that says, “It’s hot, I’m tired, and this is where I feel good, so this is where I’ll be.”

I’ve always had a deep craving for safety, for comfort, for peace. I’ve always chased it, even when I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. And now that I’m older, now that I’ve lived through some shit, I realize how fierce that little girl was. And still is.

This blog, this story, this whole rebellion, it’s for her.

I’m still loud. Just wiser. And I’m finally ready to speak.

Welcome to The Quiet Rebellion.

~ Daughter of Sabr