I spent four years of my life in rural Plymouth, NH, surrounded by trees, wildlife, and white people. My private boarding school was a drastic change from growing up in the Bronx, New York. It was calm. Sometimes the silence was peaceful but also reminded me that I was far from home. There was no public transportation; people had to use cars to travel. At night the sky lit up with hundreds of beautiful bright stars; a rare sight in the city. Nearly every faculty member living on campus had a baby, a dog, or both. Most of the faculty were white heterosexual males, although there were also women, but none of whom were of color. In my four years of attending Holderness, there were only two faculty members of color, as Tatum (2002, p. 150) explains: “For many people of color, learning to break the silence is a matter of survival. To remain silent would mean disconnecting from your experience, swallowing and internalizing your oppression. The price of silence is too high." I made sure my voice was heard and that I stood up for myself, whether it was a small prejudicial comment or a large racial issue on campus. My friends and I were chastised by many of our white colleagues and even faculty for speaking out on racial issues. Even though it was difficult to speak out against racism, I knew that if I didn't do it, the chances of anyone else doing so were slim to none. There was a lack of support from faculty to address racial issues and this scared Black students into remaining silent for years. I strived to make change happen even if it meant changing just one white student or gaining support from another faculty member. I always knew racism existed, but it wasn't until high school that I personally experienced it. It wasn't until I found myself in an environment where I was a minority that I understood the hindering impact that racism could have on a person's mental and emotional.