When you think about your biggest goal in life, odds are it has something to do with discovering who you are meant to be. I think that I have found at least a part of myself within journalism. Wahawk Insider, my high school’s online newspaper, started fall 2022. I joined the year after (fall of 2023) and it was the best decision of my life. The moment I joined, I started drafting my fist ever article, which sparked my passion for journalism, one that has not left me since.
As a little girl, I would constantly write. You could never find me without a glittery pink pen in my hand or sitting hunched over my (Grandma Beverly) Gammie’s laptop creating stories day by day. On my sixth birthday I got my very first journal, named Journey, from my Aunt Donna. Instantly, my entire life revolved around this journal, and even today my long school days end with me opening my journal to write. However, despite the fact I am a writer, one that never stops, I can’t help but stare at this narrative asking myself “Why can’t you write when it matters most?”
As a little girl, I would constantly write. You could never find me without a glittery pink pen in my hand or sitting hunched over my (Grandma Beverly) Gammie’s laptop creating stories day by day. On my sixth birthday I got my very first journal, named Journey, from my Aunt Donna. Instantly, my entire life revolved around this journal, and even today my long school days end with me opening my journal to write. However, despite the fact I am a writer, one that never stops, I can’t help but stare at this narrative asking myself “Why can’t you write when it matters most?”
What makes Kaylynn Crawford who she is?
Six year old Kaylynn Crawford.
Also known as the girl in the mirror.
Photo courtesy of Trisha Crawford
Surprisingly, the answer is not as simple as you may think it is. You would expect my answer to be journalism and that alone, but in reality, I am made of the people around me.
Every day when I look into the mirror, I search far and wide, deep into my own eyes, for that six-year-old girl who just got her first journal, writing these beautiful stories. The girl who did not know how important she was, or how special she was to the lives of the people around her. Every morning I am left with the same feeling. I should have allowed her to feel loved instead of pushing her to fight for the love of people who did not want to give it to her.
Her beautiful brown eyes looking into mine, with her shoulder-length natural brown hair, looking at 17-year-old me, my shoulder-length hair, which has been dyed every 6 months since the start of my high school career, permanent tear stains on my cheeks and under my eyes, I can only wonder what she would say if she could see where I am now.
Even looking at this image now makes me teary-eyed. She knew nothing, she was perfect but too naïve to know what that word meant.
To this day, I strive for perfection constantly. Even as I am writing this narrative, I am constantly typing, deleting, typing, deleting and inevitably giving up, but in my personal opinion, trying your best is the new perfection.
Every day when I look into the mirror, I search far and wide, deep into my own eyes, for that six-year-old girl who just got her first journal, writing these beautiful stories. The girl who did not know how important she was, or how special she was to the lives of the people around her. Every morning I am left with the same feeling. I should have allowed her to feel loved instead of pushing her to fight for the love of people who did not want to give it to her.
Her beautiful brown eyes looking into mine, with her shoulder-length natural brown hair, looking at 17-year-old me, my shoulder-length hair, which has been dyed every 6 months since the start of my high school career, permanent tear stains on my cheeks and under my eyes, I can only wonder what she would say if she could see where I am now.
Even looking at this image now makes me teary-eyed. She knew nothing, she was perfect but too naïve to know what that word meant.
To this day, I strive for perfection constantly. Even as I am writing this narrative, I am constantly typing, deleting, typing, deleting and inevitably giving up, but in my personal opinion, trying your best is the new perfection.
2:01 - 2:45 pm
Another key reason why I am writing this today, why I am where I am, is because of my wonderful adviser, Nicole Goodman.
Goodman is truly one of the most beautiful souls I have even had the experience of being around. She cares so deeply for her students, allowing them to feel safe, included and loved in an environment that makes it feel impossible to be seen.
August 24, 2023, Goodman sent me the email that actually changed my life. When I got the original email, asking me to join the team, I was very apprehensive. I was unsure that this would be what was good for me.
Through the doubt and fear, that little girl in my mind was jumping with joy. She giggled with excitement, unable to contain herself. I knew I had to say yes. If not for me, for that small, naïve girl who just wants to be heard.
My first semester, I published nine articles, the first of which being within the first few weeks of joining the class. It was the first article of the year. I was so proud of myself, but Nicole Goodman, a teacher I had just met, was the proudest.
My second semester as a part of the Wahawk Insider team, I was promoted to the title of “Arts & Entertainment and Opinion Editor.” This was huge to me. I finally felt like my skills were being seen.
The night I received the email that my editor position application was accepted, I could not sleep. I stayed up for hours just staring at myself in the mirror, looking at how the same girl that thought writing was supposed to only be in her journal is now an editor for her high school newspaper.
I felt the exact same way when I got the email saying I was now the Editor-in-Chief, except the emotions were 20 times stronger.
Every article I have written, all 19 of them, have been submitted to Best of SNO, not one has been accepted. Yet. Goodman is the only human that keeps boosting my hope, keeps my head above water. She always tells me "This could be the one," or "This is definitely SNO worthy." Those small comments, even if it might not seem like it to some people, are what keep me pushing and striving for what's to come.
The only reason I have gotten this far in my Journalism career is all thanks to Goodman. She pushed me to get out of the box I had created for myself. I was young and I still am. I have so much more ahead of me, but because of her, I know that I can get so much further than I had originally planned.
Goodman, even as I write this very sentence, is supporting me constantly, but not only in publications. She supports me in all my aspects of high school.
Every home football game, I know that I can look out into the stands and see her radiant smile from across the stadium. When I found out I was a double performer for IHSSA Individual Event All-State (solo acting and musical theater) she emailed me instantly saying how proud she was of all the hard work I put in.
Goodman is my idol, the woman I want to be when I grow up.
Goodman is truly one of the most beautiful souls I have even had the experience of being around. She cares so deeply for her students, allowing them to feel safe, included and loved in an environment that makes it feel impossible to be seen.
August 24, 2023, Goodman sent me the email that actually changed my life. When I got the original email, asking me to join the team, I was very apprehensive. I was unsure that this would be what was good for me.
Through the doubt and fear, that little girl in my mind was jumping with joy. She giggled with excitement, unable to contain herself. I knew I had to say yes. If not for me, for that small, naïve girl who just wants to be heard.
My first semester, I published nine articles, the first of which being within the first few weeks of joining the class. It was the first article of the year. I was so proud of myself, but Nicole Goodman, a teacher I had just met, was the proudest.
My second semester as a part of the Wahawk Insider team, I was promoted to the title of “Arts & Entertainment and Opinion Editor.” This was huge to me. I finally felt like my skills were being seen.
The night I received the email that my editor position application was accepted, I could not sleep. I stayed up for hours just staring at myself in the mirror, looking at how the same girl that thought writing was supposed to only be in her journal is now an editor for her high school newspaper.
I felt the exact same way when I got the email saying I was now the Editor-in-Chief, except the emotions were 20 times stronger.
Every article I have written, all 19 of them, have been submitted to Best of SNO, not one has been accepted. Yet. Goodman is the only human that keeps boosting my hope, keeps my head above water. She always tells me "This could be the one," or "This is definitely SNO worthy." Those small comments, even if it might not seem like it to some people, are what keep me pushing and striving for what's to come.
The only reason I have gotten this far in my Journalism career is all thanks to Goodman. She pushed me to get out of the box I had created for myself. I was young and I still am. I have so much more ahead of me, but because of her, I know that I can get so much further than I had originally planned.
Goodman, even as I write this very sentence, is supporting me constantly, but not only in publications. She supports me in all my aspects of high school.
Every home football game, I know that I can look out into the stands and see her radiant smile from across the stadium. When I found out I was a double performer for IHSSA Individual Event All-State (solo acting and musical theater) she emailed me instantly saying how proud she was of all the hard work I put in.
Goodman is my idol, the woman I want to be when I grow up.
Fighting Losing Battles: The War Against Anxiety
At the age of 13 (my last year of middle school), I thought I had nothing. I truly did not have the slightest bit of hope for my future. I felt like I was fighting a losing battle every time I woke up.
I was having the hardest time in my life, the biggest challenge I had ever faced. Undiagnosed anxiety.
It sounds like I’m reaching across space asking for someone to pay attention to me, but this was so difficult to go through. Daily panic attacks, the feeling of dread every time I opened my eyes, even the thought of not wanting my eyes to open ever again.
Anxiety in such a copious amount is detrimental to a young person's mental health, to anyone's mental health for that matter.
It hit me like a truck. It wasn’t until my junior year in high school that I finally got my diagnosis and medication to help manage the crippling, debilitating anxiety I was facing.
Before I was diagnosed, I went through a lot of different phases to try and cope with the things I was going through. I tried self-harm, meditation, sleeping, talking to friends, you name it, I tried it, but nothing was working.
During this time, I did not have the motivation to pick up the sparkly pink pen six-year-old me would have instantly grabbed, but once I did, it was like a switch flipped in my brain.
There is something about getting what you feel on paper that makes your struggles worth it. Once I started reflecting on these dark moments in my life, I realized that I needed people to understand that they are not alone, I just did not know how.
I sat in silence, tuning out the ambitious young girl who would never stop letting people know she loved them. I refused to listen to her when she said she loved me.
Sometimes, if the world got too quiet, I could hear her. “Say something. Do something. Be something.”
Junior year, when Goodman asked me to join the team was when I finally decided to listen to that voice in my head, the one I had been drowning out for years.
To this day, I still struggle with anxiety. When I am feeling like the world has shifted, when everything starts to fall apart, I pause, grab my pen, close my eyes and listen to that child that just wants me to be okay. Then I start writing.
These experiences, that girl, almost compelled me to pick up my pen, or in some cases, open my computer and get the thoughts out for others to know that they are not alone. This is why I started my “Open Letter” series on the Wahawk Insider website. I needed people to hear it from someone who is going through the same thing. They are heard, they are seen and most importantly, they are so loved.
I was having the hardest time in my life, the biggest challenge I had ever faced. Undiagnosed anxiety.
It sounds like I’m reaching across space asking for someone to pay attention to me, but this was so difficult to go through. Daily panic attacks, the feeling of dread every time I opened my eyes, even the thought of not wanting my eyes to open ever again.
Anxiety in such a copious amount is detrimental to a young person's mental health, to anyone's mental health for that matter.
It hit me like a truck. It wasn’t until my junior year in high school that I finally got my diagnosis and medication to help manage the crippling, debilitating anxiety I was facing.
Before I was diagnosed, I went through a lot of different phases to try and cope with the things I was going through. I tried self-harm, meditation, sleeping, talking to friends, you name it, I tried it, but nothing was working.
During this time, I did not have the motivation to pick up the sparkly pink pen six-year-old me would have instantly grabbed, but once I did, it was like a switch flipped in my brain.
There is something about getting what you feel on paper that makes your struggles worth it. Once I started reflecting on these dark moments in my life, I realized that I needed people to understand that they are not alone, I just did not know how.
I sat in silence, tuning out the ambitious young girl who would never stop letting people know she loved them. I refused to listen to her when she said she loved me.
Sometimes, if the world got too quiet, I could hear her. “Say something. Do something. Be something.”
Junior year, when Goodman asked me to join the team was when I finally decided to listen to that voice in my head, the one I had been drowning out for years.
To this day, I still struggle with anxiety. When I am feeling like the world has shifted, when everything starts to fall apart, I pause, grab my pen, close my eyes and listen to that child that just wants me to be okay. Then I start writing.
These experiences, that girl, almost compelled me to pick up my pen, or in some cases, open my computer and get the thoughts out for others to know that they are not alone. This is why I started my “Open Letter” series on the Wahawk Insider website. I needed people to hear it from someone who is going through the same thing. They are heard, they are seen and most importantly, they are so loved.
My Knight in Shining Armor: Wahawk Insider
To put it simply, Wahawk Insider made my life worth living. I don't say this to make you feel like you need to feel bad for me, thinking maybe that if I have not have gotten in I would be writing this to you today, but it is true.
I have always been a very extroverted person. When I was little, I would walk around the Walmart asking fully grown adults if they wanted to come on play dates with me, then proceed to give them my address.
Once high school started however, most of my friends had left for other groups, causing me to completely flip off that part of my brain, which was when I also fully shut out that girl who just wanted to have someone to play with.
High school was the fortress I wrote about as a kid. It’s the fortress I write about now, the one that I have been plotting to escape as soon as I can.
I built a tower with four very thick walls made of fear and hurt, a ceiling, made of impenetrable metal, but there were no doors, not even windows.
This tower was small, but somehow while I was inside, it felt like a fortress. It felt like I was that princess in all the stories I had written. People would come to save me, but they would always fail, making the walls thicker than it had been moments before.
Once I got the email that I was wanted on the team, that girl's voice silenced the noise and screamed, louder than I have ever heard before.
“Do Something.”
So I did.
The next day, I responded to Goodman’s email telling her how I was “So excited to be a part of something this big!”
Little did I know, it was about to be a lot bigger.
Coming in to Insider with no prior journalism experience was terrifying, and I know I have said that like a skipping CD, but I mean it. I was so afraid of doing something wrong and throwing away my one shot at being heard by someone. I did not want to upset that girl.
As I progressed in my writing, I noticed that I was finding something I have not had in a while. I was finding enjoyment, love even for what I was putting out into the world. People loved what I was writing and I loved writing it.
After every article I would publish, every story idea, monday meeting, every bell ring, those walls on the tower were thinning, deteriorating. The ceiling was crumbling above me, but no pieces were falling, they were just wistfully blowing away.
Semester two came around, I was named an editor. Instantly, all four walls were gone within the blink of an eye, like they never even existed.
But they did. When Insider found me, not even the sharpest arrow could pierce through the walls of the fortress I had built around myself. But slowly, with time, I saw them go.
I saw the sun again for the first time in years.
I could breathe.
The Insider team and program took that tower I was living in and ripped it to shreds.
Here, I don't have to worry about what's yet to come, I focus on the "now." This place is a family, with plenty of siblings, all from a different background.
Here, that little girl is happy.
That's more than she has ever dreamed of.
I have always been a very extroverted person. When I was little, I would walk around the Walmart asking fully grown adults if they wanted to come on play dates with me, then proceed to give them my address.
Once high school started however, most of my friends had left for other groups, causing me to completely flip off that part of my brain, which was when I also fully shut out that girl who just wanted to have someone to play with.
High school was the fortress I wrote about as a kid. It’s the fortress I write about now, the one that I have been plotting to escape as soon as I can.
I built a tower with four very thick walls made of fear and hurt, a ceiling, made of impenetrable metal, but there were no doors, not even windows.
This tower was small, but somehow while I was inside, it felt like a fortress. It felt like I was that princess in all the stories I had written. People would come to save me, but they would always fail, making the walls thicker than it had been moments before.
Once I got the email that I was wanted on the team, that girl's voice silenced the noise and screamed, louder than I have ever heard before.
“Do Something.”
So I did.
The next day, I responded to Goodman’s email telling her how I was “So excited to be a part of something this big!”
Little did I know, it was about to be a lot bigger.
Coming in to Insider with no prior journalism experience was terrifying, and I know I have said that like a skipping CD, but I mean it. I was so afraid of doing something wrong and throwing away my one shot at being heard by someone. I did not want to upset that girl.
As I progressed in my writing, I noticed that I was finding something I have not had in a while. I was finding enjoyment, love even for what I was putting out into the world. People loved what I was writing and I loved writing it.
After every article I would publish, every story idea, monday meeting, every bell ring, those walls on the tower were thinning, deteriorating. The ceiling was crumbling above me, but no pieces were falling, they were just wistfully blowing away.
Semester two came around, I was named an editor. Instantly, all four walls were gone within the blink of an eye, like they never even existed.
But they did. When Insider found me, not even the sharpest arrow could pierce through the walls of the fortress I had built around myself. But slowly, with time, I saw them go.
I saw the sun again for the first time in years.
I could breathe.
The Insider team and program took that tower I was living in and ripped it to shreds.
Here, I don't have to worry about what's yet to come, I focus on the "now." This place is a family, with plenty of siblings, all from a different background.
Here, that little girl is happy.
That's more than she has ever dreamed of.
Set in Stone
As a senior in high school, you would think that my future plans are set in stone, the reality is, no. No they are not.
When I was little, I wanted to be an aerospace engineer. Seemed crazy then, still seems crazy now. Then I went through the doctor phase, the teacher phase, the forensic science phase and finally the social worker phase.
I want to help people. I have always wanted to be a backbone for someone, especially if they are going through the things I have gone through in my life.
All throughout high school, I was under the impression that I was set on where I wanted to end up and the path I wanted to take to get there.
Originally, I wanted to start with majoring in psychology with a mental health minor, then I wanted to major in psych but minor in social work and the final most recent path I wanted to take was a major in social work, with a minor in mental health counseling.
My goal was to be like the people that helped me get through my hardest times. I wanted to be a school counselor because that's where I experienced the most help, but that is not true anymore.
I felt this was my calling, where I was meant to go, until I started writing this narrative.
While writing about Goodman, I heard that voice again. The six-year-old version of myself was asking me so many questions at one time.
“If you want to be like her, why not do what she does? Why aren’t you doing what you love? Can you not help people as a teacher? If she helped you in unexplainable ways, why can’t you do that for other kids?”
All of these questions, ones I don’t have the answers to at this moment, overwhelm my head, flooding my brain with ideas I don't want to listen to.
But this time, instead of shutting her out, I am listening to her.
When I was little, I wanted to be an aerospace engineer. Seemed crazy then, still seems crazy now. Then I went through the doctor phase, the teacher phase, the forensic science phase and finally the social worker phase.
I want to help people. I have always wanted to be a backbone for someone, especially if they are going through the things I have gone through in my life.
All throughout high school, I was under the impression that I was set on where I wanted to end up and the path I wanted to take to get there.
Originally, I wanted to start with majoring in psychology with a mental health minor, then I wanted to major in psych but minor in social work and the final most recent path I wanted to take was a major in social work, with a minor in mental health counseling.
My goal was to be like the people that helped me get through my hardest times. I wanted to be a school counselor because that's where I experienced the most help, but that is not true anymore.
I felt this was my calling, where I was meant to go, until I started writing this narrative.
While writing about Goodman, I heard that voice again. The six-year-old version of myself was asking me so many questions at one time.
“If you want to be like her, why not do what she does? Why aren’t you doing what you love? Can you not help people as a teacher? If she helped you in unexplainable ways, why can’t you do that for other kids?”
All of these questions, ones I don’t have the answers to at this moment, overwhelm my head, flooding my brain with ideas I don't want to listen to.
But this time, instead of shutting her out, I am listening to her.
The Voice in the Back of My Head - Why I am Listening
More often than not, I find myself completely shutting out the voice. I don’t want to listen to her because she is so young. What does she really know?
The truth is, she has seen me growing. The beautiful brown bug-eyes I talk about so often are looking through the same ones.
She knows me better than anyone in the world, so why would I not listen to the things she has to say?
Wahawk Insider has opened so many more doors than I thought were in the long hall I walk. Because of Insider, I have been able to speak. Not only in the form of speaking to the people right in front of me, but the people on the other side of my articles.
My goal as a part of this team is to uncover the unseen. It is my goal to make sure everyone gets a chance in the spotlight.
Because of Insider, I have been able to shed light not only on my personal opinions, but on those who work just as hard as I do, if not harder. The people who most likely have the same “Mini-them” in their heads telling them:
“Say something. Do something. Be something.”
I hope that someone somewhere reading my articles feels seen and through online publications, that hope is much, much stronger than it has ever been before.
The truth is, she has seen me growing. The beautiful brown bug-eyes I talk about so often are looking through the same ones.
She knows me better than anyone in the world, so why would I not listen to the things she has to say?
Wahawk Insider has opened so many more doors than I thought were in the long hall I walk. Because of Insider, I have been able to speak. Not only in the form of speaking to the people right in front of me, but the people on the other side of my articles.
My goal as a part of this team is to uncover the unseen. It is my goal to make sure everyone gets a chance in the spotlight.
Because of Insider, I have been able to shed light not only on my personal opinions, but on those who work just as hard as I do, if not harder. The people who most likely have the same “Mini-them” in their heads telling them:
“Say something. Do something. Be something.”
I hope that someone somewhere reading my articles feels seen and through online publications, that hope is much, much stronger than it has ever been before.
The End
Truly, there is no end to the struggles anyone faces, only new beginnings.
Now, as I write this personal narrative about my life, I close my eyes and see that girl. Her big and beautiful brown eyes looking back at me, her long brown hair falling over her shoulder in such a perfectly imperfect manner.
I know she would be so proud of the woman I am becoming.
And for the next chapter, I will be attending Drake University to continue my life in journalism. My journey is something I have always wanted to inspire other people, and as a journalist, I know I can make that happen.
It all started with a sparkly pink pen and hopefully, with more words than most, this story never sees an end credit scene.
Now, as I write this personal narrative about my life, I close my eyes and see that girl. Her big and beautiful brown eyes looking back at me, her long brown hair falling over her shoulder in such a perfectly imperfect manner.
I know she would be so proud of the woman I am becoming.
And for the next chapter, I will be attending Drake University to continue my life in journalism. My journey is something I have always wanted to inspire other people, and as a journalist, I know I can make that happen.
It all started with a sparkly pink pen and hopefully, with more words than most, this story never sees an end credit scene.
Again, the little girl in the mirror. This is the girl that I strive to make smile.
Photo courtesy of Trisha Crawford
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But then there is me, my senior year of high school smiling back at the girl in the mirror, smiling back at me every morning.
PC: Erica Rissi
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