“She cries when I try to talk to her.”

Can you run more tests?

“There are no signs of autism.”

Are you sure?

“Yes.”

For months, my mother desperately sought help from doctors to uncover the reason for my inability to speak in public. Doctor after doctor, she received the same news, some rehashed version of "there is nothing wrong with her" or "she is just shy." But from a young age, my inability to speak felt like something more. I couldn’t think when people wanted to talk to me; I was too aware of my increasing heartbeat, the loud noises around me, the sweatiness of my hands. My throat would close up, and no matter how I moved my mouth, there were just certain scenarios where I couldn't speak. Some people might have believed there was an issue with my vocal cords, but I could speak freely at home with my parents. Over time, this became the norm. My final doctor diagnosed it as "selective mutism,” an anxiety disorder causing the inability to speak in social situations, which affects less than 1% of people. Finally, a diagnosis for what I was experiencing. It wasn’t in my head; it was real, and it had a name.

Hoping to help me connect with others my age in a different way, my parents enrolled me into dance classes at a young age. The girls around me quickly discovered my inability to speak, but welcomed me with open arms. I enjoyed their company, but needless to say, I never talked in these unfamiliar surroundings. Once the class began and we started dancing, verbal communication was no longer an issue. I was free from the demands to talk, and both my dance teacher and parents immediately witnessed a transformation. I even felt this freedom on the exposing stage with bright lights and people watching. I had no fear, no need to speak, just the desire to share my love for dance. Through movement, I could express every feeling I couldn’t put into words. It would take a couple of years, but I began to notice a pattern in how I felt when trying to speak versus when dancing. The key seemed to be in how I perceived my audience. Determined, I began trying to speak more often, and although no words would come out, my desire to make words out amplified. And then it happened, in the middle of a recital, unprompted, I spoke.

While I am grateful that dance helped me overcome selective mutism, my extended period of silence gave me a deeper understanding of the value of communication. Once I started speaking, I not only formed new friendships but also strengthened my existing ones. I learned how words, gestures, and even presence could bring people together and build empathy.

In high school, I jumped at the opportunity to take American Sign Language (ASL). I immediately fell in love with the language and felt a deep connection with the Deaf community. Signing felt like a dance to me, so I branched out from just the classroom by participating in community events and witnessed how ASL could bridge the communication gap for people of different backgrounds. However, I found that the Deaf community is often marginalized within larger groups. Even at my high school, I noticed a similar pattern where interest in the ASL club seemed non-existent. As a member, I focused on changing this by recruiting my friends to join events even if they couldn't sign. Since becoming president, I have focused on creating more exposure and education surrounding the Deaf community by organizing trips and creating partnerships across student clubs. I have slowly begun to see how even just a small effort can make a community feel heard amidst silence.

My experiences with selective mutism and dance have not only shaped my identity but also inspired me to use my voice to speak out for mental health awareness and communication accessibility. I understand that everyone faces unique challenges, and resilience is key to overcoming them. By sharing my story and facilitating conversations about mental health and communication, I aim to empower others to find their voices.

In my community, I am committed to making a difference by promoting understanding and acceptance of chronic mental health issues. My journey has taught me that every challenge can lead to an opportunity for growth, and I hope to inspire others to embrace and persevere through their own struggles and connect with those around them.

In a world where communication barriers often exist, I am dedicated to being a bridge. My story is a testament to the strength found in vulnerability, and I will continue to advocate for mental health awareness, ensuring that every voice is heard and valued. Whether through spoken word, movement, or sign, I’ve learned that expression can take many forms, and each one is powerful.