Stephanie Appiagyei, aged 15, on making sense of the world

Stephanie Appiagyei (credit Rudy Farragher)

I was told I could write about anything, and at first that seemed really intimidating, until I picked up the pen and just scribbled down my thoughts.

It started as random lines, not even full sentences, just feelings I didn’t know I was carrying. A quiet kind of heavy; not sadness exactly, but a weight, like walking through the world with an invisible backpack full of questions no-one wants to answer.

Why do I sometimes feel like I have to shrink myself to fit into spaces that were never built for me? Why do people love the version of you that’s easier for them to handle? Why is it that when I speak my mind, it’s “attitude”, but when others do it, it’s confidence?

I’m only 15. But I’ve already learned how to read the room before I speak. I’ve learned how to adjust the amount of ‘me’ I show, just in case it’s too much to others, as if I come with a dial that people can turn up and down when they want.

Because growing up means learning to carry things quietly – the questions, the pressure, the things you can’t quite name. It means feeling joy and fear at the same time and realising that both can exist without cancelling each other out.

I’m still learning who I am, when no-one’s telling me who to be. I’m still figuring out what I believe, what I care about enough to stand for. But I do know this: my voice has weight, even when it’s unsure. Writing this helped me see that I don’t need permission to take up space. I don’t need to wait until I’m older to ask big questions or feel big feelings. I am already enough, already becoming.

And maybe that’s the whole point, not to write something perfect, but to write something true.

This article is presented as part of the This Is Us Festival, a collaboration of 16 arts and education organisations in Enfield.

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