At the end of each semester I receive, along with my grades, short paragraphs from my teachers that go over what I did well and what I need to improve next semester. Every year since middle school I have consistently received the same note from at least half of my teachers. “Juliette participates a great deal in the class”. I always admired my ability to speak in front of others and argue points in a convincing manner. But what disturbed me about this comment, was that it was almost always in the “To be improved” section. Well if I should fix it, why would they use the word “great” in it? If we are being graded on participation, how can I participate too much? Granted, in everyday life, I readily concede that I talk too much. In terms of a filter, if everyone else has a LifeStraw, I have one old, cracked pasta strainer: if it passes through my brain, it passes through my lips.  

I never truly understood my verbal affliction until Talky McTalkface joined my class. Talky McTalkface (a fake name for privacy) raised her hand with gusto the second the teacher asked a question. She supplied a counterpoint to anyone’s statement. She made legitimate points, but she didn’t take the time to make sure that other voices were heard, and thus drove everyone in the class absolutely insane. When her hand went up, everyone gave each other the look, yet she was oblivious. She was more interested in speaking her thoughts than hearing those of others.  Is that the way people felt about me? The thought lingered in the back of my mind like a rock stuck in a shoe. When I was leaving class that day, my friend turned to me and said “Do you know who you remind me of?” I anticipated the answer, but it stung no less, “Who?”

“Talky McTalkface.”

Fist, meet gut. I felt the impact of those words ripple through my body.

I finally understood the feedback my teachers were giving me. That was it. I promised myself, by the end of the year, my pasta strainer would be nearly waterproof. At times, I would literally bite my tongue. But nevertheless, I couldn’t find a way to ease my urge to blurt out my thoughts on every comment. If I put in my two cents every time I wanted to, I would be broke in a week. I battled my tongue for two years, until I started peer tutoring. Peer tutoring is a program at my school in which people who are particularly good at one subject can mentor people who are falling behind. I started tutoring one of my classmates. She got good grades on almost all of her papers and was an attentive reader, but there was one thing that was weighing her grade down: participation. I was almost giddy with excitement when she told me this, though I tried to conceal it as to not look insensitive. When I asked why, she told me that she simply did not think her ideas were good enough to be said out loud and that the discussion would move too fast for her to think of a comment to add. This seemed foreign to me but I didn’t want to badger her. We eventually developed a system in which we would rehearse class discussions and prepare questions and answers ahead of time. During the discussion, I would bring up one of the prepared questions or comments and she would have had enough time to fully flesh out and provide commentary. After a couple of weeks, we saw clear improvements in her grade.

One day in class, after having shared one of the prepared comments, I realised that I no longer felt the insatiable urge to ramble. I had a reason for speaking that was not "being heard", so once someone added onto my point, I felt satisfied. I stopped listening in order to answer, I listened to understand. And that winter, my teacher comment read, “Juliette is a great listener.”