On Making Noise

I’ve always been a quiet weightlifter–wincing if I knock the safeties too hard, trying to put the bar down quietly when I deadlift, making sure not to vocalize while I lift. Recently, I started not doing these things. It wasn’t a conscious decision, and now that I reflect on it, I think it may just speak to increasing comfort with my skills and my knowledge at the gym.

In any case, I’ve noticed that being loud is actually central to my process of lifting these days. To get the heavy lift, being quiet is going to sabotage my strength. I had to quit playing the mental game of observing myself as others saw me while I was trying to lift. I had to learn to focus, to just be in the lift and do what I had to to make it work.

Why be quiet in the first place? A fear of attracting notice, for one. For another, gyms are traditionally male spaces. I’ve had a lot of luck in my gym life to be part of an all women’s weightlifting class which has shown me that the gym belongs to us, too. (And has immeasurably built my confidence in my body.) I am now at a point in my life where if someone tried to make me feel bad in a gym, I might actually attack them. And a last reason: that making noise is something I’m not allowed to do.

Being loud or outspoken is something that gets me into trouble from time to time, as it gets lots of women into trouble. Women are supposed to be good, above all else: to embody moral and aesthetic goodness, to not be too big, to not be too loud. So being in a gym, being in my body, being vocal are all things that carry consequences, from minor to major. Being asked to leave, being asked to be quiet, subtler forms of social pressure to conform.

I realized this kind of mindset (be small, quiet, not too much) was also sabotaging my writing practice. I had internalized some version of art that was personal, quiet, and not too upsetting. Alongside this, I felt couldn’t defend my time to make art or my art-making itself. At the risk of turning my weightlifting into a metaphor (even though I really just enjoy being a meathead), it has helped me learn to take up space in my writing, to be ridiculous and loud and to try to stretch and push rather than staying scared and small. I’ve recently started a project that is firmly within genre, a kind of action-thriller type book that makes me laugh even as I write it. It has been so long since I felt I enjoyed my writing. Which meant I had been doing it all wrong.

Speaking and writing, like lifting, are bodily acts and practices that we can become better at, exercising muscles against shame, fear, and caring too much what other people think. If all of these things help you take up a little more space, then that is all they need to be worth it. Make some noise, friends. Shout your lifts. Write ridiculous things. Shout down anyone who tries to make you smaller.