Before You Read: This piece is meant to be funny — because let’s be real, the mental chaos that happens right before speaking in class deserves to be laughed at. But while you’ll definitely find some humor in the panic and overthinking, I want you to know that it’s also rooted in something real: learning how to speak up, trust your voice, and feel like you belong in academic spaces. So enjoy the jokes, the spirals, the dramatics… and when you get to the end, I hope you take something meaningful with you.
[0.2 seconds before raising hand]
Okay, okay… I think I have a thought.
Not a fully-formed idea, but like… a thought-shaped thought.
Maybe it’ll make sense out loud?
I mean, worst case, the professor nods politely and moves on, right?
[Hand begins to rise]
Okay, we’re doing this. We’re committed.
I am lifting my arm in the name of knowledge, anxiety, and the desperate hope that no one else was about to speak.
[Brain interrupts]
WAIT.
What if someone else was about to raise their hand too?
Oh god, did I just hand-block someone?
[Glances around]
…Nope. No movement.
Okay. It’s just me.
I am alone. I am the chosen one.
This is both empowering and terrifying.
[Professor makes eye contact]
Oh no. They saw me.
It’s happening.
I have been called upon by the academic gods.
I must now speak words. Aloud. In public.
[Begins speaking]
“Yeah… I was just thinking, um, kind of connecting what we read for today to something from earlier in the semester…”
(Translation: I’m stalling, please give me three seconds to breathe and rearrange this sentence in my brain.)
[Thought spirals mid-sentence]
Wait, was that the reading for today?
What if I mixed up the weeks??
What if this entire idea makes no sense and I’m just free-styling intellectual nonsense with no exit strategy???
[Continues talking]
“…because it seems like the character isn’t just reacting to her situation, but also trying to resist it in this very quiet, internal way—like resistance is emotional, not just political…”
(Whoa. Hold on.
Did I just say something kind of deep?)
[Professor leans in, intrigued]
Oh.
Ohhh.
They’re nodding. They’re writing something down.
Did I just… accidentally say something insightful???
[Classmate jumps in]
“I really liked what Litzy said about emotional resistance. It reminds me of—”
WAIT.
DID THEY JUST SAY THEY LIKED WHAT I SAID??
I’m basically being cited. In real time. IN VERBAL MLA FORMAT.
[2 minutes later, sitting quietly]
I think… I contributed to the discussion.
Like, actually contributed.
Not in a “here’s a vague comment so I get participation points” kind of way, but in a this actually moved the conversation forward kind of way.
[Reflects in silence]
I can do this. I do belong here.
Sometimes the voice in my head gets loud with self-doubt.
But this — this moment — was real.
My brain made a connection, and I trusted it enough to say it out loud.
And it mattered.
Final Thoughts:
Raising your hand in class is a deeply emotional experience — equal parts overthinking, over-preparing, and mild panic. But sometimes, on the other side of that anxiety spiral, is a moment of clarity. A moment where you hear your voice out loud and think:“Wait… that actually made sense.”
That’s what I’m holding onto.
Because truthfully, I struggled. These past few months, I found myself battling silence — not because I didn’t have thoughts, but because I wasn’t sure they mattered. I was still learning how to participate, how to adapt to the culture of seminars, how to believe that my voice belonged in those rooms.There were a few times when I’d finally raise my hand in a seminar and think, “This is dumb,” or “I’m not saying this right.” But this semester, something changed — especially in my Contemporary and Modern U.S. Black Writers class with Dr. Frank Leon Roberts. That class became a space where I slowly — and then confidently — started to speak.I remember moments where I’d share something that felt like a half-thought, only for Dr. Frank to say, “You’re cooking with grease.” And suddenly, something I thought was messy or wrong felt meaningful. Validated. Good. That simple affirmation helped me realize: I do have something to say — and it’s worth hearing. So here’s what I’d tell anyone struggling to speak up in class, especially in a seminar setting:Yes, it’s scary. Yes, it takes time. But you are not alone in that fear.
Start small. Take messy notes. Ask yourself questions. And when you finally feel that tug — the “I think I want to say something” moment — lean into it.
Your thoughts don’t need to be perfect. They need to be honest. And trust me — even if your voice shakes, someone in that room needs to hear what you’re saying.
Because you? You’re absolutely cooking with grease.