Sharing this essay is both scary and exciting. Writing it was really hard for me as it forced me to confront my past, even if it’s something as trivial as quitting pageants. But, showing my vulnerabilities will help others realize I’m still a person, not just “the Kalise Miller,” as said by Ms. Evans in her People’s Choice speech. Now that I think of it, my first title being “Tiny Miss Gateway Regional” is pretty full circle. I submitted this essay to all of the colleges I applied to. I was accepted into all of them except one, where I was waitlisted. In the fall, I will be attending Kean University majoring in Journalism!
9/23/23: The day I left behind my longest running dream. My childhood self would’ve been so confused the day I told my mom I wanted to quit pageants. Though, my future self is already proud.
At 5 years old, I began competing in pageants. I was always searching for some way to get a crown on my head because of how much I idolized the Miss America’s of my youth. Throughout my time competing in pageants, I thought the people that left were simply bitter they didn’t win a new title. I thought they didn’t actually care about the organization and it’s empowering message. However, I started to realize how much emotional damage pageantry comes with. It’s no Honey Boo Boo and Mama June from Toddlers and Tiaras. Instead of pixie sticks I had identity loss.
Time was the first problem that came to my plate when I entered high school. It felt like I was in the Spy Kids movie where time sped up each day. My friends were never seen outside of dance or school, and my family? Forget about it. As a girl who’s forever scared of being late and has a fear of the letter B on report cards, I constantly had pressure on myself to do everything at peak ability level. In my everyday life, I had multiple AP classes, dance practice multiple weekdays (plus competition weekends), cheer practice and football games, and clubs during/after school. Where does pageantry fit in here? Well, nowhere. And that was scary.
With the overload of activities, I had to face a new challenge: anxiety. Every third Thursday I had a mock interview with pageant directors to work on my skills. And every three weeks, I couldn’t go without crying on a Thursday night. My chest would fill with dread, my legs wouldn’t want to leave my bed, and my mom would see how much I needed to cry. I hated mock interviews, but I never understood why. Maybe I didn’t like speaking to people of authority. Maybe I didn’t like my answers. Maybe I wasn’t good enough at taking criticism.
“Maybe I’m not good enough,” I thought.
My anxiety turned into something that was ever present: self-doubt. I was surrounded by people who were always “on”. They would speak so well, could’ve out danced me any day, and easily won crowns. I wasn’t overly critical, just realistic. I felt as though I hit a wall, and I never found my true reason for competing. I was passionate about community service and I wanted to win. But my “why” never came to me.
Eventually, I realized the only “whys” I could think of related to quitting, not continuing. By September 23rd, 2023, everyone knew I was quitting pageants. I was constantly asked the same 3 letter question, “Why?” “It’s a lot,” I would always tell them, followed by my surface level answer of “Not enough time in a day.” Which is true, but I didn’t tell them about the anxiety and doubt that surfaced everytime I even thought about competing that truly drove me to the edge of my pageant career.
Without pageants, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was no longer Kalise Miller, Miss (insert title here). I was just Kalise. And finding Kalise this past year has been the most confusing, fun, draining, and mind opening experience. I became even more involved in school and became the cheer captain I never thought I would be. I learned that my identity isn’t attached to a title, but to my personality and the things I choose to represent me. I’m creative, intelligent, helpful, leading, and independent. I don’t need a title to tell me who I am anymore. I can just be a young woman developing into an adult, finding her place in the world. And I can just be Kalise.
