Lissy Portorreal ‘25 on Change, Love, and Vulnerability

The Govs community gathers every Wednesday in the Moseley Chapel for quiet reflection and a Chapel Talk by a community member about something important to them. Lissy Portorreal ‘25, a boarding student from Lawrence, Massachusetts, recently shared a collection of vignettes about change, love, and vulnerability that she wrote in her ninth-grade English class with Ms. Fitzgerald. 

Please enjoy Lissy's recent Chapel Talk, or you can listen to her talk here.

Lissy's First Vignette

When asked the question, “What is your biggest fear?” I would always come up with the stalest answer I could think of—heights, bugs, ghosts, snakes, clowns, you name it. I would rotate these answers, and while I wished I could say I was brave and strong and afraid of nothing, that was just not true. My biggest fear seemed silly, so I often lied about it. Never has the response to that question been the full truth: rabies. My biggest fear is somehow contracting rabies. 

Rabies is not common. But my fear doesn't lie in the odds of getting rabies; instead, it is the fact that if I do, I will die in a matter of days. I could be perfectly healthy one day, get bitten by an animal, and suddenly be dead the next week. It's bizarre. Someday, I will proudly admit my fear of rabies, but until then, my apprehensiveness toward animals I don't know will go unexplained.

Growing up, I constantly moved from house to house, and my family has never stayed in one house for more than a year and a half.

Looking back, I was not afraid of contracting rabies but afraid of the sudden changes that could happen. Surprisingly, I used to find change comforting. Growing up, I constantly moved from house to house, and my family has never stayed in one house for more than a year and a half. The upside to expecting change is that if something was bad, I knew it would eventually end. The downside is that you never relish the good stuff because you know it will eventually be gone. 

When I first arrived at Govs, it was the complete opposite. I was thrown into a very concrete routine. Everyday, I wake up at the same time, go to class, see the same people, and return to the dorm. And I went to sleep, knowing for sure that I would wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. Things never changed. I could expect to have a nice breakfast with Maggie. I could expect to have a BLA (Black Latinx Association) meeting every other Thursday. I could expect to check in at 7:30 p.m. and then have a 20-minute conversation in Christina's or Katherine's room before study hall. And I could almost always expect Gaby to call me on Friday night asking if I had seen her lost AirPods. 

I had never experienced this before, and I began to like all the little routines with the people I love. And now, I like them a little too much. I tell my mom that I will get a 9-to-5 office job so that my life never has to change. She tells me that I will eventually get bored of it, but I don't think this is true. While lots of things have changed since writing these vignettes, I don't think my desire for a routine will ever change. 

Lissy's Second Vignette

I have always been the kid whose parents “don't have to worry” about. With my two older brothers creating all the chaos needed in a household, my sister and I were more relaxed. I was always the quiet one out of the bunch and was very shy growing up. Of course, like every other kid, I was fussy and had small tantrums here and there. But there was never a day I remember when I got into big trouble.

At first, my relaxed and calm nature was natural, but as kids get older, they naturally want to defy their parents. Maybe they won't clean their room or they talk back. Or refuse to do the dishes. But I've never done any of those things. When I reached the age where I instinctually wanted to defy my mom, I had already opened my eyes to the hard work that my single mother was putting in. My heart would hurt too much to put her under any more stress, and so for that reason, I never did rebel. 

But there's still a part of me deep, deep inside that wishes I had. I wish I had acted up a bit more and “tested the waters,” if you will. Maybe one day I'll hit my rebellious teenage angst phase, locked up in a dark room, listening to music that is way too loud, and responding to any questions with one-word answers.

I never reached my angsty teenage phase, which I attribute to always having a lot of autonomy growing up. I realized this at 11 years old, getting a routine check-up. At the end of the appointment, my doctor turned to my mom and asked if I would be getting the flu shot today. My mom looked at me and said, “She can decide.” I was shocked that she was letting me decide. I contemplated for a moment, but obviously, I did not get a shot. What eleven-year-old wants a shot?

I got into the rhythm of doing things alone and struggled to rely on people and be vulnerable. 

I don't blame my mother for giving me too much freedom. I understood that she was busy with her own personal conflicts and much bigger problems than me getting my flu shot. But this level of autonomy made me hyper-independent. I got into the rhythm of doing things alone and struggled to rely on people and be vulnerable. 

This was until I met Maillie, the first person I could fully rely on who wasn't my family. From brainstorming essays at 1:00 am to buying me a Dukin' Refresher when I was sad, Maillie was willing to help me wherever, whenever. She has been a pillar of support and taught me that asking for help is okay. Slowly, I have been able to ask for help from other people in my life. Whether that’s asking Mr. Ogden to help edit my English papers or being vulnerable with my friends about my emotions. I have allowed myself to be more dependent on others, which has deepened my relationships and helped me realize that I will always be supported. 

Lissy's Third Vignette: My Favorite Person 

I was sitting at the clear glass dining room table on a Saturday night with my sister, Joselyn '23, who had left for Govs just two months prior. I missed having her at home. She was working on some sort of essay. I looked over her shoulder at her computer. I was only in seventh grade, and she was a freshman. At that point, I had only written about three works on a computer and had exclusively used the Arial font. I asked her why she used such a fancy font. “It's Times New Roman," she said. "It makes everything look professional.” After that, I typed everything in Times New Roman. 

Joselyn is an all-rounder. She's hilarious, passionate, and pretty, and despite this, she is still somehow approachable. So often, amazing people are unattainable. She isn't. She makes new friends instantly. In every public setting, she shines. Adults even like her. Among her amazing qualities, my favorite is her integrity. She is stubborn, sticking to her opinions even after you argue with her a million times. She has a habit of being too honest. She’ll tell you that your outfit looks bad, point out the food in between your teeth, and give you brutally honest advice. Many might see her bluntness as something bad, but it makes me respect her even more. 

My mom used to dress Joselyn and me the same. Buy double of everything. I don't know when she stopped doing this, but I'll always remember my mom stopping us in the backyard before every “fancy” event and us wearing the exact same dress, tights, shoes, and hair clips. Joselyn despised this, a forced smile on her face for every photo. I secretly wished our mom did it more. 

My friends always told me stories of being compared to their siblings. They were pitted against each other and held to the standards of their siblings. Being compared to Joselyn was complicated. Many people would expect me to resent it, wishing I could be seen for my own talents. And even though this was partially true, being compared to her felt like a compliment. I felt a warmth in my heart when people would hold me to her standard. I had always known she was meant for something bigger. Being compared to her confirmed how amazing she was and showed that people thought I could be as wonderful as she. 

If I counted up who has made me laugh the most in my life, it would be Joselyn. Those deep belly laughs that make you gasp for air rolling on the floor— the aftermath of a snarky comment she made. She has always been my favorite person, and even if she weren't my sister, she still would be.

If you remember Joselyn's Chapel Talk two years ago, you might remember her calling me the most consistent part of her life, and I share that same sentiment. If there's one thing that hasn't changed since writing these vignettes, it's that Joselyn has always been my biggest supporter. The night before giving my own Chapel Talk, I was feeling anxious, but I knew exactly who to call. Joselyn reassured me that everything would be okay. Joselyn, I cannot thank you enough for your advice, and I hope you know that you will forever be my hero. 

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I wrote these vignettes almost four years ago, and there are still parts of me that haven't changed. I still love my little routines with my friends, and Joselyn will forever be my best friend. But I have changed in more ways than I have stayed the same. 

The best changes have come from the support of those I love, who gently push me to grow.

People often think change stems from sheer self-determination and grit, as if one day you just decide who you want to be and work towards it. But for me, the best changes have come from the support of those I love, who gently push me to grow. Change isn't always about big steps or grand gestures. Sometimes, it's the gentle nudges and the unwavering support of those around us that lead us to become the best versions of ourselves. But most importantly, though it may be scary at times to accept that support, lean into accepting the love. 

There is one person that comes to mind when I think of the word love. My grandmother. 

During Grandparents Day in my sophomore year, my grandma sat next to Henry Gesing '25 in my Spanish class, complimented his Spanish, and even asked to take a photo with him. When I visited her this October, she asked how "the boy from Spanish class" was doing—surprising me that she remembered him at all. But that’s my grandma: she remembers you, even if you’ve only met her once. And if you’re lucky enough to meet her again, she’ll insist you call her “Abuela” from then on.

My grandma has taught me what it means to love. She is the embodiment of love. She still loves me even though I respond to her Spanish with English, even though I don't call enough, and even if I fail. And in fact, she loves me so much that she loves everyone that I love. 

Change and love may seem like two separate things, but in reality, they are intertwined. The people we love cause us to change, and as we move through life’s changes, we must hold onto that love.

-Lissy Portorreal '25