Author: Sarah Caldwell
Date: April 23, 2025
When I was younger, I remember having one of those moments where everything just clicked. But it wasn’t the kind of realization that makes you feel relieved. Instead, it left me unsettled, confused, and a bit uncomfortable in my own skin.
It all happened during a group assignment in third grade. Our teacher, Mrs. Harper, a woman who always seemed so put-together, told the class to pick partners. I had always been the type of kid who was well-liked and easily made friends, so when she announced the task, I didn’t think much of it. I was one of those kids who would typically pick all my closest friends to join my group, which I did. We gathered around, chatting and laughing about how easy this assignment would be, but something felt… off.
As the class went on, I noticed that, while my friends were all immersed in the task, I found myself talking aloud, but not to anyone in particular. I wasn’t necessarily speaking to them, though they were sitting right beside me. It wasn’t even about the project we were supposed to be working on. It felt like I was just rambling—out loud, but to myself, almost like I was playing out a conversation in my head that I couldn’t quite shake off. At first, it didn’t seem that unusual, but soon, I realized something was different.
The teacher must have noticed too. After a while, Mrs. Harper came up to me with a concerned look. She asked gently, “Why are you talking to yourself over here?”
I froze, caught off guard. I wasn’t sure how to respond, because in my head, I wasn’t just talking to myself. It felt like there was something important about those words, like they were part of a much deeper conversation—one that wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear.
“I was just… thinking out loud,” I replied, not fully understanding why I was even doing it. It was strange, but somehow comforting.
Mrs. Harper, still a bit puzzled, patted me on the shoulder and moved on, but the incident lingered with me throughout the day. It wasn’t the first time I’d caught myself talking to no one in particular, but it was the first time I realized that maybe something wasn’t quite right. Everyone around me was so focused, so fully present in their conversations, while I felt like I was somewhere else entirely.
As the years went by, I started to notice it more. I would have these internal dialogues, not with others, but with myself. It was almost as if I couldn’t stop having these thoughts come to life, sometimes in full conversations. My friends didn’t understand, and I never explained it to anyone. It was my secret.
It wasn’t until much later in life that I started to get a clearer picture of what was going on. There was a point where I began to realize that my “conversations” weren’t just random thoughts—they were my way of processing the world. But at that moment, at eight years old, I didn’t have the words to describe it.
Looking back, I can see now how that small, off-hand comment from my teacher set me on a path of self-awareness. It was the first crack in the shell of my own understanding, a clue that perhaps I wasn’t as “normal” as the others around me, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I wasn’t broken. I was just different. And over time, I learned to embrace that difference, understanding that sometimes, talking to myself wasn’t a sign of something wrong—it was how I understood the world and made sense of my own feelings.
