𝘼 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙉𝙤𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙎𝙖𝙬.

I’m much younger; I can’t remember the year, and I can’t remember the day either, but I can vividly remember what happened.

My mom calls my siblings and me to the sitting room to have a family meeting, and we are all sitting on the carpet floor while my mom sits on the plastic chair as she speaks.

She’s done speaking, and she asks, “What do you think about this idea? If you have anything to say, say it; I want to hear your opinions.”

My elder brother speaks first, and now it’s my turn to speak, and everyone turns their back to leave.

Their reaction when I open my mouth to say something says it all, and the atmosphere agrees with the compliment. It whispers, “Here he comes… He’s about to speak off point again.”

I’m infuriated now, and I turn to my mom and say. “Ee hee, is that so? You allowed everyone to speak; now it’s my turn to speak, and everyone is leaving; no one wants to listen to what I have to say.”

Noticing the pain in my voice, she tells them to stay back, and she says, “ Oya, speak, we’re listening.”

Even though they stay back to hear me out, they’re not listening; they are only hearing what I’m saying; their minds are somewhere else. It’s like they’re saying, “Oga, talk fast, make we dey go.”

I’m feeling uncomfortable about it; it seems I’m forcing them to listen to me; it seems what I’m saying is just entering through their right ears and going out from the left.

I feel my mom just asks me to go ahead to fulfill all righteousness; she says that to make me not feel angry and to feel heard, but I’m still angry, and I’m not being heard.

I’m angry because this is not the first time they are turning their backs on me, and I don’t think it’s going to be the last time.

They’re always too quick to dismiss my opinion; they don’t want to hear me out; they always presume that I’m going to say something stupid and meaningless.

And it hurts me badly because it makes me feel I don’t matter and that they don’t care.

They always tell me I always speak off point when I want to speak.

They always tell me listening to me is a complete waste of time.

When I ask questions, they say I ask too many irrelevant questions.

And when I speak, they say I talk too much.

It doesn’t end here; I also go through that in school. I’m finding it difficult to ask questions in class; I’m even finding it difficult to speak.

I want to raise my right hand to ask a question in class, but I’m afraid of raising it up. I’m afraid of speaking because I don’t want to be scrutinized.

I’m afraid that I’m going to ask a stupid question like everyone says; I’m afraid that no one will understand what I have to say.

So I feel the best thing to do is to sit down and keep my mouth shut because no one wants to listen, and no one will ever listen.

I start to believe that if I keep quiet, I’ll be loved and accepted.

I start to believe that keeping silent equals being a good child.

I start to believe that silence is safe, it attracts peace, and speaking up is waging war, so I decide to be quiet.

But part of me still wants to be heard, part of me still wants to be seen, and now I’m becoming arrogant, I’m becoming recalcitrant, I’m becoming wayward.

I can’t cry when I’m hurt; I can’t feel angry when someone upsets me; I can’t complain when I’m dissatisfied.

I’m programmed to act like a good and obedient child.

A good child who has no right to feel.
A good child who has no right to share his opinion.
A good child who has no right to ask questions.

An obedient child who always says ‘yes’ to everything and can’t say ‘no’ to anything.
An obedient child who follows every instruction with no right to make an objection.

I’m expected to act like everyone, to be like everyone, to just sit down there and ‘shut the fuck up.’

They say, “Crying is for the weak,” and when I try to show emotions, they criticize me for being a weakling. They say, “No dey cry, you no be woman, na man you be, man no dey cry.”

Now, I believe silence is strength, and speaking up is a weakness, and for me to be considered strong, I need to act strong.

Now I’m as strong as they want, struggling all by myself. I’m always frowning; some praise me for that, while some still complain, “Why don’t you no dey laugh e be like say you wan join soldier.”

Part of me is crying to be seen, part of me is screaming to be heard, and to accomplish that I have to become someone else; I have to become something else.

I have to become the black sheep of the family; I constantly make my mom shout, I cause a lot of trouble, I destroy things at home, and I do all sorts of things that you can ever think of.

Everyone sees me, but no one truly sees me; everyone hears my voice, but no one really hears me.

I feel I’m always standing in front of people, but I’m still invisible; my voice echoes all over the place, but no one hears it.

Growing into adulthood, there are changes I’m noticing, there are feelings I’m beginning to have, and there are challenges I’m starting to face, but I don’t know who to talk to about it. I don’t know how to express them, so I feel it’s safe keeping them within myself.

Now I don’t know what it feels like to be listened to, I don’t know what it feels like to be heard, and I don’t know what it feels like to be understood; all I do know is that if I give you a command, don’t complain, just do it.

And I don’t care what you think about it or how you feel about it; all I care about is that my command be done the way I want it.

A quiet child is not a good child.
A quiet child is not an obedient child.
A quiet child is not a calm child.

A quiet child is a traumatized child.

He learned that to be loved, he has to package himself; he has to keep all he’s going through to himself.

He learns that his opinions don’t matter, no one wants to listen to them, so there’s no need to share them.

He learns that he’ll be punished and despised for speaking more, for asking countless questions, for expressing his feelings, so he decides to numb them.

He learns that the only way to fit in and be accepted is to act like everyone else, to be like everyone else.

But deep down within him he wants someone to truly see him; he wants to be heard.

He struggles with so many difficulties, pains, and unresolved traumas, but there’s no one to teach him, no one to guide him, and no one to help him.

And he’s afraid of asking for help because asking for help makes him look weak; it makes him feel vulnerable, and to be considered strong, he decides to carry the whole struggle alone on his shoulders.

Most people die early in life not because they’re not living a healthy life but because they don’t allow themselves to feel, and you can never heal if you don’t allow yourself to feel.

You can never heal if you don’t ask for help, guidance, and assistance.

Everyone deserves to be heard; everyone deserves to be seen. It’s time for us to open ourselves to receiving people, to listen to them without judgment, and make them seen.

It’s time to reduce showing off our big successes and massive moments and bring ourselves to allow others to share theirs.

It’s time to reduce focusing on what we think and how we feel and start asking people what they think and how they feel.

It’s time to stop fighting to be understood and start striving to understand others better.

Remember, it’s not always about you; it’s about others. Many people need your help; they are dying in silence, and you don’t have to deprive them of that.