This I Believe Essay
An Invisible Storm
I believe that when you worry you suffer twice. When classmates or friends are stressed about a presentation or a project, I try to assure them that they are prepared and have nothing to worry about. When you worry or stress about something, it only clouds your judgement and makes things worse.
I believe in this statement, but only when it pertains to other people. From the outside I see how their concern is not needed and how it’s doing more harm than good. It’s as if the person I’m talking to is in the eye of the storm. From the inside they are surrounded by wind and rain on all sides. But from the outside, I can see that the rain will not hurt them and that the wind is a mere distraction.
I can’t say the same for myself. I can preach to others all I want not to worry, but overthinking is my signature move. Just ask my parents. I’ve been getting better about school work, for I no longer lose sleep over getting perfect grades. I eventually realized that my inner turmoil was not going to make up for that history test I bombed. But social interaction is where my achilles lies.
If I’m making a phone call, it’s common to find me staring uselessly at the keypad, inwardly agonizing over hitting the call button even though I know I’m going to call anyway. Sometimes I’m no longer looking at the phone, but start spiraling into my unnecessary worries.
“What if they don’t pick up?”
“Will I have to leave a voice message?”
“Oh my god is that even the right number?”
I always find another excuse to push back the imminent call. I doubt myself every step of the way even though I know I put the phone number in correctly for the fifth time. My dad has walked in on me on numerous occasions and asked me if I had made the call. My response is usually an exasperated “No” followed by a surge of determination, hoping maybe this time I won’t chicken out.
The things I typically worry about have already happened, are happening, or will happen. If it’s already happened I can’t change it no matter how many times I reimagine it in my head. If it’s happening right now I should be paying attention to what is in front of me and not let anxiety take control. If it is going to happen, it’s going to happen. Despite my predicament, my mindset, I believe that worrying can only do so much. Eventually you get to a point where you’re wasting time that could be spent living in the present.
I’m trying to look outside the storm like I do for others. I give advice, I should try to live up to it. But until the day I can look beyond my storm, I’ll take life one phone call at a time.
Memoir Essay
In the Darkroom by Susan Faludi
When figuring out someone’s identity, is their past important even if they believe it’s no longer theirs? Journalist and Pulitzer Prize winner Susan Faludi believes someone’s past is essential, for it speaks the truth of the individual’s life. Faludi’s memoir In the Darkroom, published in 2017, focuses on her cultivating a new connection with her abusive father, Steven, who is no longer identified as male, but female, Stefánie. In the book she recounts the last ten years she spent with her father and dissects Stefánie’s past, looking for influences that could have shaped her father into the person she was. Three main values Faludi’s memoir illustrates are the truth, the past, and family. Two more subtle values that are represented nonetheless are boundaries and feminism. Faludi is very open and honest in her memoir, which is to be expected since she is a journalist. Her veracity plays a significant role for it makes her and Stefánie seem more human. Figuring out one’s identity and family connections is not a perfect process, it’s messy and challenging. Faludi places an emphasis on this which allows the reader to better empathize with her and her father.
Faludi became a budding journalist in elementary school and since then has influenced her drive to find the truth well into adulthood. Early on in their budding relationship, Faludi and Stefánie were sightseeing in Budapest, Hungary. Her father reminisced of how she was so happy when the Sikló was reopened after, according to her, being destroyed by the Russians. Her father appeared to have a prejudice against the Russians for she believed that “The Russians destroyed everything that was Hungarian”. Faludi later read in a brochure that under Soviet rule, the building was actually put back in service in 1986. However, Faludi did not tell her father, for she “knew better than to stick a pin in Hungarian ‘grand illusion’” (127). Early in the book it is established that Faludi is always ready to dig deeper and look beneath facades, foundational qualities of a journalist. On the other hand, Stefánie is content to see the picture she wants to see even if it is not the truth.
A striking difference between Faludi and her father is while Faludi looks to uncover the past Stefánie does everything she can to suppress it. Early on when Faludi is just getting to know Stefánie she asks to see her childhood family photos. Stefánie denies her request and claims that “It’s irrelevant,” and “not [her] anymore” (108). Stefánie sees her life after her operation to be a new birth, shedding her old name and past in exchange for a new one. Faludi has a difficult time grasping this for despite changing her sex, Stefánie’s past is Steven’s past. Faludi’s value of the past can also be seen throughout the memoir itself. When she is not recounting interactions between her and Stefánie, Faludi goes back into history. She primarily focuses on Hungary’s history as well as the Holocuast since both acted as significant influences for Stefánie. Not only does this allow Faludi and the reader to learn more about her father’s history, but both are able to try and figure out what events have shaped Stefánie’s identity. Faludi makes direct connections to events or patterns that occurred during her father’s life that could have influenced her. In one particular passage Faludi points out how Stefánie grew up in a culture where “the men of his ‘race’ were slandered as neurasthenic sissies” or how he’d “witnessed his man-about-town ‘cultured’ father reduced to a fearful fugitive” (384). She provides a contrast to how Stefánie’s mother and how women in general were treated and accepted in society compared to their male counterparts. These kinds of external pressures had the chance to influence Steven menally, for at the time he saw nothing good came of being a man. Faludi searches ruthlessly through her father’s past for the majority of the book, only toward the end of the memoir stepping back After her father passed in 2015, Faludi had the attic Stefánie always kept locked opened by a locksmith. Inside she found bags of men’s clothes as well as darkroom materials. After taking a look around she then called the locksmith back to replace the lock. Faludi felt that for so long she “had been determined to decode the riddle of [her] father. Now, it seemed important to honor her inscrutability” (637). This is significant because throughout the memoir Faludi saw no bounds in regards to dissecting her father’s past. She would constantly ask Stefánie questions and ask to go to childhood landmarks even if Stefánie was against it. One would think the closed off attic would be a treasure trove for Faludi, but she values her father’s boundaries and puts her desire to uncover the past away.
Faludi’s value of family particularly shines through for her father when they reconnect in 2004 in Hungary. When she first meets Stefánie at the airport after over 25 years she immediately accepts her. Granted, Faludi had numerous questions but did not challenge or question Stefánie’s identity. When they began walking out of the airport Faludi caught a group of women eyeing her father. She recounts that “I didn’t understand the words, but I got the intent. When her gaze shifted to me, I glared back” (39). This moment illustrates that even with the traumatic experiences her father had put her through then dropping off the grid for a quarter of a century, Faludi still supports Stefánie and defends her because she is her father. The reader sees Faludi make this choice again toward the end of the book when a stranger asks how she and Stefánie are related. Stefánie said “I am her…”, leaving the question open for Faludi to fill in the blank. Faludi recalled pausing, “not wanting to cause any pain. One way or another, an identity would be denied” (621). She replied with “mother”. This is significant for two reasons. This moment demonstrates how Faludi has continued to support Stefánie and uses the identity she aligns herself with. But it is also notable because in this conversation Faludi is going against one of her other values: the truth. As a journalist, Faludi hunts for the truth, as the reader has seen throughout the memoir. Although in this instance she chooses to forgo the truth in favor of supporting her father.
Faludi’s memoir illustrates how one’s identity is extremely important and unique. One does not have to fit the identity molds created society despite the external pressures they may encounter. Her values of the truth, the past, and family helped Faludi navigate her turbulent relationship with her father. Despite the last 10 years being far from ideal or normal, both sides were able to gradually trust one another, and create a new connection stronger than the one that stood before. At the end of the memoir when she recounts her father’s passing, the reader is able to see how far both people have come compared to when they first “met”. Faludi’s journey with her father shows how one’s past is not a weakness, but is powerful.
Works Cited
Faludi, Susan. In the Darkroom. Harpercollins Publishers, 2017.