Cassie S.

Photography by Lydia Troupe

If you’re reading this, your presence matters.

I grew up surrounded by strong personalities and, for better or for worse, took up a shield of conflict avoidance. I hated seeing anger and disappointment in others’ eyes, whether I was the one causing it or not, and I would do everything in my power to prevent it. But this turned into meaningless suppression of my own thoughts and opinions, and destructive disregard for my wants and needs.

As a child, avoiding conflict was often as simple as hesitation. I could wait for my friends to decide where they wanted to eat or pause long enough for an adult to impose what length my hair should be cut to. As I got older, I learned to read people well enough to seamlessly flip my answer mid-sentence. Even when faced with incoherent, alcohol-driven arguments, I could usually determine the exact script and body language to defuse the situation. And if all else failed, I could just disappear, avoiding contact altogether or hiding away in my own head to shut out the anger or the yelling.

I felt like an observer in my own life. I was a mirror for what others wanted to see, just going through the motions. It became such a default mode of existence. I spiraled and began to equate any difference of opinion as conflict, and I would make myself miserable to avoid it. In middle school, I remember one of my friends asking if anyone had seen a movie I really liked. As soon as I enthusiastically said “yea!”, I noticed a different friend frown slightly in shock. I immediately transitioned my enthusiasm towards the movie into enthusiastic critique, giving a thirty-second spiel of why it was a terrible movie. My friend smiled in agreement and said “exactly!” with every point I made. 

I was angry with myself for hiding what I really thought, but it was overshadowed by the twisted pride I felt for knowing what my friend had wanted. I lied and told myself I was making her feel validated, but all I was really doing was hiding any difference of opinion that made me stand out. While I could mimic the personalities of those around me, I felt like I was severely lacking one of my own. No one really knew who I was, and, after behaving this way for most of my life, I didn’t know who I was either.

I wouldn’t say there was a single moment of conviction, but rather, countless sporadic events that made me realize how unsustainable this was. I wouldn’t tell people when they hurt me, wouldn’t give them the slightest indication that something was wrong. I would carry the entire weight of a conflict without others even knowing it existed. And it was too much. 

Not only was I exhausted all the time, but I learned how negatively my behavior was perceived by others. Because I was constantly trying to fit in with those around me, suppressing who I really was, my fabricated persona didn’t add anything to my company. The transition from middle school to high school was particularly rough. We got new lunch tables with individual, attached stools, meaning there was a set number of people who could eat at each table with no option to add more seats. I found out on the first few days that I had the furthest class before lunch and would arrive too late to claim a spot, instead sitting at the next table and trying to still talk with my friends. I decided to sprint from my class the next day and arrived early enough to sit at the table, relieved to feel like part of my group again. But when the last girl got there and sat at what had been my table, everyone immediately stood up and sat with her, leaving me alone again at the original table. I had been left out of groups before, but this was a loneliness like no other. No one seemed to care if I was there or not.

I was miserable, an empty shell, realizing that all this time spent trying to please others left me with nothing for myself. It was hard to wake up from this state of existence. I did a lot of reflecting on my life experiences, trying to figure out what I really wanted and what actually made me happy. And the best thing for it was finding people who truly cared about me.

The most crucial lesson I’ve learned is that there is a difference between peacekeeping and peacemaking. Peacekeeping is about maintaining the status quo and taking on internal conflict to keep external peace. But it’s unhealthy, neglectful, and lonely. Peacemaking is about actively pursuing solutions to benefit everyone. It is how we connect with others and feel seen.

My experiences growing up led me to believe that I didn’t matter as much as others, that I should be the one to sacrifice and stay silent if it meant others remained happy. But this is a huge disservice and incredibly unfair to people who genuinely want to know and care for me. And I now know how beautiful it is to let others see every side of me, not just the one I carefully construct to match their personalities. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be imperfect. It’s okay to have needs and let others take care of you.

Peacekeeping created barriers and isolation, but peacemaking has been my path towards healing. While I still struggle to stand up for myself sometimes, I find strength in standing up for others. And oftentimes, they return the favor. Everyone wants to feel heard and included, and I would encourage you to surround yourself with those who see you, too. Because your thoughts and opinions deserve to be heard. Because who you really are will always have value that this world needs. Because your presence matters.

Cassie S. (she/her), Georgia Tech Ph.D. Student in Quantitative Biosciences

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