Finding Your Voice Through Pretend

Sometimes, it’s just hard to say what you need to say. I see it every day in room 214. Little Maya, bless her heart, wants to tell Mrs. Davies that the red crayon isn't working right, but she just stares at her shoes and chews on her lip. It’s not a defiance thing. It’s a *getting-the-words-out* thing. And I think a lot of grown-ups feel the same way, just… amplified. It’s why sometimes I end up spending Saturday mornings in Fishtown, wrestling with my grandmother’s Sunday gravy recipe – a project that’s less about the food and more about just getting *something* right.

My aunt, Sarah, is a nurse. A really good one, according to everyone I know. She was telling me last year about the simulations they do at the hospital – these elaborate role-playing exercises where the residents have to deal with everything from a screaming patient to a family grieving a loss. It sounds intense, and honestly, a little ridiculous when you first hear about it. But then you think about what it means to be in that situation – the pressure, the responsibility. Pretending, acting, practicing… it's a way to build a muscle you didn't even know you had.

It's like this kid, Leo, in my class. He’s got this brilliant imagination. When we were doing a lesson on conflict resolution – pretending to be a squirrel arguing over a nut – he was *amazing*. He took on this whole different persona, this grumpy old squirrel, all puffed up and indignant. But outside of that game, Leo can barely ask for help when he’s struggling with a math problem. He clams up. Same kind of thing, different context, I guess.

I remember when I was younger – trying to talk to my cousins about why I felt like I needed to leave Delaware County. It wasn’t about them. It was about… something else. Something I couldn’t name. And the words just wouldn’t come. I’d stumble, I’d blush, I’d end up just nodding along with whatever they said. It felt like a betrayal, to myself and to them. But I couldn’t find the words to explain. Role play, I think, is a way to rehearse that – to find those words in a space where the stakes aren’t so high.

My grandmother, Nonna, she’s always been good at it. Not role-playing exactly, but at *shifting*. When I was trying to explain to her how frustrated I was with a particularly challenging student, she didn’t offer advice. She didn’t tell me to “be patient.” She just started telling me a story about her own struggles as a young woman, immigrating from Italy. Suddenly, my frustration felt smaller, somehow. A perspective shift without any need for me to ask for it.

You see it in relationships too. Arguments get escalated because people aren’t really hearing each other. They’re just waiting for their turn to talk. Imagine if you could pause the argument, step back, and pretend to be the other person. Just for a minute. Not to agree with them, but to understand *why* they feel the way they do. Maybe then the words wouldn’t be so sharp, the tone wouldn't be so accusatory.

It's not about becoming someone else. It's about accessing parts of yourself that you usually keep hidden. The empathy, the vulnerability, the ability to communicate in a way that actually connects with someone. Like learning to make Sunday gravy – it's not just about the tomatoes and the meat. It's about remembering the people who came before you, and the stories they have to tell. It's about finding a way to honor that legacy, even when the words fail you.

The gravy is simmering now, filling the kitchen with a smell that’s both familiar and comforting. I think I’m finally getting it. Not just the recipe, but something more. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is pretend. And that maybe, just maybe, pretending can help you find your voice.