Breaking the Ice

By Jillian Sarver 

Every year around Thanksgiving, the McConnell Center hosts an event called “THINKsgiving,” where the scholars are encouraged to say a few words in front of their peers. There are not any specific requirements or regulations for what we are supposed to speak about; we are simply given the opportunity to say whatever is on our mind. My freshman year I gave a pretty surface-level speech, not desiring to spill my guts and heart to people I would have to face the next day. I have always struggled with open honesty, with expressing myself in spoken words, instead choosing to hide behind a paper and pencil, a haven for someone who is to cowardice to be real. When I sat down to write my speech this year, I felt compelled to go against all my basic instincts, to speak about what is true and what is me. Here is what I had to say...

November 21, 2024

As winter draws near, I can feel its icy grasp start to take hold of my brain. With each passing season, my mind changes, ebbing and flowing wherever the wind takes it. In those colder months, the wind takes it further within itself. My personality, emotions, and general self huddle up, seeking shelter from the brutal cold. During this time, it is comfortable to let myself become numb, to let the ice freeze over my soul. Admittedly, I have never been fond of sharing my emotions, desperately trying to fade them into nothing. However, I would be lying if I said I was successful. They do not fade into nothing; they take a back seat and watch as part of my person fades with it. Over and over, I let pieces of myself disappear for a mere semblance of comfort, of reprieve from having to face my problems and myself head on. Like a fool, I told myself that this year would be different. This would be the year I am not a coward, the year I start to face all that I have disregarded. On the contrary, I seem to have found myself right back where I started: huddled up in my own cave, afraid to face the cold. I have noticed it starting to affect my relationships with those I love most. The ice becomes so thick that others cannot get in, or I won’t let them in, really. It would be a waste, to let that wicked ice freeze over such beautiful friendships. I may be tired, but I am sick of letting self-sabotage rule my life, of letting it have such power and control over me. There is so much joy and sun in my life if I would just be brace enough to open my eyes and look at it. I have family and friends who love me, access to a wonderful education, and am healthy. To those who persevere even when I am cold: thank you for not relenting. Thank you for caring enough, for helping me turn my stubborn ice into soft snow. I love you dearly, and I promise that I am working to not let myself fall into familiar habits. Even though there are days when I am lost in my own mind, there is hope, hope because it snowed today and because I am breathing.

To quote a book I read this past summer: The Sense of an Ending, by Julian Barnes:
“I had wanted life not to bother me too much, and had succeeded – and how pitiful that was.”

Jillian Sarver is a McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville in the class of 2027. She is studying English and Psychology with a minor in political science.