As a Kid, I Talked Out of Turn. Now, It's Made Me a Fearless Writer.

Soy Demasiado, a special issue for Juntos, celebrates Latinas who are reclaiming what it means to be "too much." Read the stories here.

As my parents and I walked down the long hallway of my elementary school, I braced myself for the inevitable. It was parent-teacher conference day — a seemingly perfect opportunity to discuss my straight As. However, I already knew that despite my impressive academic performance, the "talkative" comment on my report card would inevitably dominate the conversation.

Growing up, teachers didn't hesitate to write "S" for satisfactory when it came to my behavior. They also had quite a bit to say about my chattiness; as one teacher described my outspokenness, "Janel talks out of turn." While I'm grateful my parents didn't turn those comments into an even bigger deal once we got home, I would learn that in order to get glowing remarks, I'd need to acquiesce to the rules. I can't say that I fully complied, but as the years progressed, I became more aware of my talkative nature.

My elementary school educational experience isn't unique. As the daughter of immigrants from Honduras, I'm aware of how gender roles and cultural expectations have intersected with my education and shaped my experience in and out of the classroom. Furthermore, as a Black Latina, my unambiguous appearance — textured hair, braided and held together with bobos, medium-brown complexion, wide nose, and thick lips — subjected me to greater scrutiny. Statistically, Black and Brown students face harsher disciplinary measures, including suspension, expulsion, and arrests, than their white counterparts.

According to the US Department of Education's "Black Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced and Underprotected" report, Black girls are suspended six times as often as white girls nationally, while Black boys are suspended three times as often as white boys. As Black girls are forced to navigate anti-Black racism and gender stereotypes, it becomes increasingly clear that grades aren't the only concern.

In Catholic school, my behavior, along with my fellow Latine and Black classmates', was kept in line with the "pink slip" method, a code of conduct where students received a slip for each infraction. In one particular instance, I remember a teacher had had enough of my in-class talking. He scribbled my name onto the slip, and as he was about to tear off the top portion, I began negotiating with him about an alternative punishment. Ultimately, he tore up the pink slip after I agreed to apologize for "talking too much."

It's complicated moments like these that led me to an equally powerful outlet: writing. Not all of my teachers were critical of my voice. My seventh-grade English teacher, Mrs. Lento, both challenged and encouraged me as a writer. Aside from my mother, she was the first educator who nurtured my voice. "You're a great writer; keep at it," she'd say.

Those words stick with me today — along with the moments I was made to feel "too much" for having a voice. As a storyteller, I've leaned into my knack for writing to unapologetically document the experiences of Black people of Latin American and Caribbean descent, particularly Black Latinas. Over my nearly 15-year writing career, I've written a bevy of pieces — from unpacking Latinidad and an examination of why Black Diasporans are critical of the term "Latinx" to personal essays that discuss my Garifuna, Bronx-bred upbringing and my shift in perspective on Afro-Latina as a whole — that directly address culture and identity.

Though I've written for various outlets, my decision to start my own platform, Ain't I Latina? — which celebrates and highlights Black Latine women and femmes — was my foray into writing without limits. Ain't I Latina? debuted at a time when mainstream, traditional media and niche media weren't covering Black Latines. Dictating my own coverage, I've been able to center my core audience without an outsider's input.

On social media, too, sharing my own voice has fostered my ability to stand firm in my perspectives, no matter who disagrees with them. I've been able to mature as a griot and do so with a community of Black Latines who care deeply about our stories and perspectives.

Knowing intimately how often Black women and girls' voices are minimized, it's beautiful to use writing as an outlet to scream at the top of my lungs if I so choose. There's definitely not a teacher around to stop or discipline me for speaking my mind or sharing a thought. For little Janel, it feels liberating to know that I've flipped what I was told not to do into a skill that reaches other Black Latina girls and women well beyond the classroom.

Janel Martinez is a Bronx-based writer whose work focuses on culture and identity. With 15 years of industry experience, she's appeared as a featured guest on national shows and outlets, such as MSNBC's "The Culture Is: Latina," BuzzFeed, Essence, and NPR, and her work has appeared in Adweek, Univision Communications, Oprah Daily, Refinery29, Remezcla, and The New York Times.