The most meaningful lessons I’ve learned throughout my time in high school journalism have little to do with getting published. Instead, they’ve taught me humility — how to embrace my mistakes and reflect on everything that makes me human. 

When staff recruitment rolls around, my adviser looks for students with good grades, no missing assignments, high attendance and whatever else may mark them as a “good kid." I used to be that way. I would cry at the thought of being five minutes late to anything. I never let my G.P.A. dip below 4.0. I was a teacher’s pet. 

However, as time passed, I was also the student who slept through notes in class. Who skipped school to avoid a test. Who faked stomach issues and headaches to the nurse, constantly.

I was the student who lied about where they were at 3:00 a.m. The one standing anxiously in the Target bathroom while their best friend took a pregnancy test at 17. The one who ignored scars on their friend’s arms that looked like cat scratches, and got lectured by a priest on suicide at their funeral weeks later. 

There are many moments in my life that make me cringe looking back on; when I couldn’t sleep without smoking, or cry without drinking. And I couldn’t talk to anyone about either of those things, because it felt like no one could listen without passing judgment. 
 

Unfortunately, sometimes issues journalists cover are also the ones people around them are quietly living through. That was difficult for me to accept. But it also changed the way I approached reporting. 
 

It’d taken me a couple of interviews to realize that the most meaningful part of journalism wasn’t publishing a story, it was listening. The people I spoke with rarely seemed excited about seeing their name in print. Instead, they appreciated something simpler: talking about things that mattered to them, without being judged. 

This realization reshaped the way I think about storytelling. Journalism isn’t just about documenting events or turning in polished articles. At its best, it’s about creating a space for honesty, noticing which stories people subconsciously bury and giving them the dignity of being heard.
 

For a long time, that was something I felt I’d been missing in my own life.
 

Now, whenever I interview or photograph someone, my goal is to offer that same kind of attention. Not just as a reporter, but as a listener.

Because I’ve learned that sometimes the most meaningful moments in journalism are not when headlines break, when dodgy sources reply or when final edits are made. 
 

Sometimes, it’s simply the moment someone realizes someone else is willing to listen.
 

I want to be that someone.