Ella Keener

Professor Ferrara

March 3, 2023

Intro Rhetoric and Composition

Literacy Narrative

Some will say the phrase ‘you’re fine’ is comforting, but in my opinion, I think the phrase needs

to be retired. Throughout my early years of life, I always heard that phrase. Fall off my bike,

“you’re fine.” Get a paper cut, “you’re fine.” Get stung by a bee, “you’re fine.” Every single day

those two words were overused by my parents, teachers, and coaches. It wasn’t until recently

where I realized the impact those words had on me.

I sit in the passenger seat stuck at a red light of a four way intersection and look outside the

window. The outcome of last night's winter storm lay across the grass, as I watched a heap of

snow slowly turn into a puddle. I turn my attention to the black Audi 2.0T that's also patiently

waiting for the light to switch to green. I look down at the big, chunky shoe that I temporarily

have to wear on my right foot as a result of the bone I fractured at dance days prior. A wave of

excitement comes over me as the song on the radio changes, making me reach forward and twist

the volume. Before I lean back into my seat, I push down on the button which cracks my window

a couple of inches. A cool breeze enters the car moving through my nostrils, slowly making my

nose turn a tint of red. This joyful moment did not last for long as my body flew forwards and

my head bounced back, simultaneously as a loud bang echoed from the outside. A ringing

sensation blared through my ears as I looked towards my mother to see if she's okay. I watch the

driver from the Audi get out of their car and rush in our direction screaming, “Oh my goodness,
are you okay?” I hear my mother start cursing under her breath as she repeatedly says to get out

of the car. I lift my heavy shoe up and out the door with the rest of my body following, slowly

walking over to the sidewalk. I inhale a putrid, unknown scent. My mouth starts going dry and an

urgent need for water comes over me. I turn my body ninety degrees and slowly lift my head to

capture what the aftermath of the accident looks like. Moving my neck to the left I look at the

small gray car that was going fifty miles per hour when they rear ended us, completely totalled.

A small puddle forms at the back of my mothers white Jeep and the colors of the rainbow make

patterns in the space. The unknown smell that I have now got used to is known as some kind of

oil. I distract myself the rest of the time while the adults figure everything out, my brain still in a

complete fog.

The following week, I was not my normal self. I was asleep more than I was awake, my head

throbbing with every heartbeat, and felt nauseous just at the thought of eating something.

I was told every single day, “you’re fine” by my mother when I would complain about a

headache, by my dance coaches when I would black out from being so dizzy and by my school

teachers when I would squint at the smartboard and complain that I couldn't see as well.

After days and days of complaining I was brought to the doctor and after multiple tests he looked

at me and said, “you have been suffering from a severe concussion since the accident.” Months

after being told I have a concussion, I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder and

anxiety. All of the times someone has said the words “you’re fine” to me, came spiraling back

because in this moment I knew that I was not fine. There was a moment when I was told this

news where I took a deep breath and sighed with relief. I was finally being heard by someone

and knew that I was right all along with myself not being okay. It took time for me to fully
understand that I was not okay and needed help. Overall, the whole situation was a life lesson

and helped me realize the importance of one's mental health and not to always assume how one

is doing. After pondering over the phrase for a while, I have come to the conclusion that

whenever someone said “you’re fine,” it felt as if it was the answer to a question that was never

asked.

When bringing myself back to how I felt during the period of struggling with a concussion,

anxiety and PTSD there is one word to describe how I felt; mute. I was so used to being told how

I was supposed to feel that I just stopped talking about my feelings or emotions. I left everything

to build up inside of me instead of verbally speaking it. Now that I have matured with the

situation, I always say how I am feeling and whenever someone assumes something about me I

don’t take it personally and know that only my thoughts about how I am are the ones that matter.