Loretto Justice Fellowship Reflection

By Dani Felix, Loretto Justice Fellow

It’s only been three months since our Loretto Justice Fellowship orientation, but so much has already changed. I remember that day clearly — I felt both excited and frightened at the idea of meeting so many new people, some of whom I had only casually exchanged words with. When I first arrived, I was greeted with such great enthusiasm by Annie that I immediately felt welcomed. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place in a room so full of joy, energy and perhaps a level of extroversion I didn’t think I could match. I’m sure many of us were nervous, but I kept wondering whether I was truly fit for this position and for my future placement at Abara, especially as a rather introverted person.

What I didn’t expect was how quickly those feelings would evolve.

Throughout my time at Abara, I have had countless opportunities to connect with people from diverse backgrounds. And yet, even as I felt excited by the idea of border encounters, I found myself returning to the same thought: Maybe I’m not fit for this. As an immigrant who grew up in the borderlands, I was frightened by the idea of presenting my story to others. I often questioned the value of my experiences: What could I possibly share that might motivate, help or prompt reflection? And how could I do that when embarrassment and anxiety were so quick to fill my mind?

But something unexpected happened. As I slowly gained courage and a bit of confidence to reach out and connect with others, I began to realize that there is also value in quiet accompaniment. Not everything meaningful has to be said out loud. Sometimes silence carries its own kind of presence — one filled with emotion, understanding and comfort that cannot always be replicated with words. I have come to recognize that there is deep value in each of our stories, especially because they shape who we are. And at the same time, I have learned to appreciate the beauty in both sharing and keeping quiet.

This realization has been especially important for me, given my relationship with silence. For much of my life, I viewed silence negatively and resented it. I perceived it as a tool of harm, something born out of fear, shame or survival, especially for the women in past generations of my family. Silence carried pain; it held things that should not have been held inside. It is because of this history that I have been motivated to advocate for justice, to bring attention to the experiences of those living in the borderlands, to speak on behalf of those who have been made to feel unheard or unseen, and to help ensure that their voices and their stories are told, not whispered.

But even within that drive, I’ve learned to hold space for the part of me that is naturally quiet. Silence is not always absence, it can be presence. It can be a form of care. I’ve learned to accept that I can still voice the struggles of others, while also offering gentle, quiet accompaniment to those who need it.

It is thanks to the Loretto and Abara communities that I have come to embrace this complexity. Through both our differences and our similarities, I’ve learned to understand others more deeply and, in turn, to understand myself. Their continuous support has given me the space to grow, reflect and recognize that there is room within this work for many ways of existing. Being a Loretto Justice Fellow does not require being the loudest voice in the room, but openness and a willingness to grow.