Chapter Two: When My Hormones Started Talking
By nineteen, I had learned one thing about my body—it rarely whispered. It spoke loudly, sometimes in ways I couldn't explain to anyone else.
The house was already alive that Saturday morning. The smell of pancakes drifted from the kitchen while the television murmured softly in the living room. It was the kind of normal family morning most people didn't think twice about.
But I had been awake since 4 a.m.
Sleep had escaped me again. My mind had raced all night, thoughts moving too fast to hold onto. Some mornings i woke up full of energy, like I could run a marathon before breakfast. Other mornings, like today, my body felt heavy and restless at the same time—as if something inside me was trying to get my attention.
Downstairs, my mom Julie stood by the stove flipping pancakes with the calm confidence of someone who had been doing it for years. Percy, my younger sister sat at the kitchen table scrolling through her phone, occasionally laughing at something on the screen. Mike, my elder brother who was visiting for the weekend, leaned back in his chair like he owned the whole room.
"Look who finally woke up," Mike teased as I walked in. "Sleeping Beauty decided to join us." I rolled my eyes and grabbed a glass from the cupboard."I've been awake longer than all of you," i muttered.
Julie glanced at her daughter carefully. Mothers noticed things other people didn't.
"You look tired, honey," she said gently.
I shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. "I'm fine."
But i wasn't.
Something inside me had started changing over the past few years—something louder than ordinary teenage moods. My emotions could swing wildly. Some days I felt incredibly confident, almost electric with energy. Other days i felt irritable, confused, like my own body was arguing with me.
It was hard to explain without sounding dramatic.
Percy looked up from her phone. "You've been weird lately," she said casually. "Like… moody."
"Thanks," I replied dryly. Mike laughed. "She's nineteen. Moody is the default setting."
Everyone chuckled except me. Because deep down, I knew this wasn't just moodiness.
My body felt like it was sending signals I couldn't decode yet. Restlessness, sudden waves of emotion, bursts of energy followed by exhaustion—it all felt like a language I had never been taught to understand.
Sometimes it scared me.
Julie placed a plate of pancakes in front of her daughter and sat down beside her.
"You know," she said softly, "your body changes a lot when you're growing up. Sometimes it takes time to figure it all out."
I stared at the pancakes for a moment.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was normal.
But a small voice inside her kept whispering that something deeper was happening—something hidden beneath hormones, questions, and a body that seemed determined to speak whether she understood it or not.
And Celia was slowly realizing that if she wanted peace with herself, she would have to start listening.