Not Just Another Mouth to Silence

Breaking free from subtle silencing, overcoming identity crisis, and choosing to become in a world that never expected you to.

There has always been a crowd of questions in my mind.

Every single day, I walked like a second fit as if I was an extra on the stage of life, not the main character. Maybe it’s because I had been made to believe I was just another breathing creature, without anything special to offer the world.

It wasn't a loud conviction—nobody told me, “You are nothing.” Instead, it was subtle. It came in tones, expressions, rolled eyes. I remember clearly: conversations where I was shut down, called “I-too-know,” where my input was dismissed before I even finished speaking.

As a child, I was sharp. My mind was restless with questions. I spoke quickly, repeated what I heard, asked about everything. I was “that curious girl” on the block. I was tolerated for a while—until puberty. Then, the expectations changed. Suddenly, I was supposed to have “commonsense,” and that meant keeping my sharp mouth shut and leaving my quick mind to do its work quietly.

So I adapted. I became the quiet one. Not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because who was I to speak? Just another “over-sabi” teenager from the neighborhood?

Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

I was never told that I wasn’t brilliant. In fact, my sharpness was evident to many but I was constantly told I was too much. That I overdid it. That I needed to tone it down. That I asked too many questions, thought too deeply, talked too often. The message was not “you’re not smart,” it was “you’re too loud about it.”

It’s funny how silence can be taught—not as a skill, but as a survival tactic. I didn’t choose to keep quiet; I was conditioned into it. Gradually, I began to doubt the sharpness I was once praised for. I questioned my worth and intelligence in rooms where people talked over me. When the world doesn’t make room for you, you start shrinking to fit into the small corners you’re offered.

The question of identity began to haunt me. I knew Who made me but who was I, really?

In a society like mine, where dreams are often sacrificed for “what is realistic,” how do you grow into boldness? How do you walk into rooms of changemakers when you’ve been made to believe that dreaming is a luxury and expression is pride?

I was told that if I pursued what I loved—writing, speaking, asking questions—I’d end up “doing nothing serious” with my life. That I needed to wake up and “face reality.”

Maybe, for a while, I believed that. Maybe I started calling my own passions shadows—things to chase in private but not trust in public.

Photo by Hannah Xu on Unsplash

But I know now:
I was not created to blend in. I was created to matter.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us...”
— Marianne Williamson

In a Nigerian context, where being expressive and curious as a child especially a girl is often seen as overbearing or disrespectful, the idea that we are afraid of our own power doesn’t always hit the mark.

Here, it’s not always the light that frightens you.
It’s the fear that there was never a light in you to begin with—or worse, that your light is simply too much for the world to handle. The fear that if you keep shining, someone will shut you down again. The fear that you’ll be told, once more, to tone it down.

So no, it wasn’t my brilliance that scared me. It was the exhaustion that came with constantly managing how much of it to show.

If I was wonderfully made by God, then I am not random.
I am not bland. I am not “just another girl.”

Photo by Alysha Rosly on Unsplash

I matter.
Not just in mass, or space but in impact.

So, I have to tear down every belief I absorbed unconsciously.
I have to uproot every limiting thought, and replace it with beliefs that serve me—beliefs aligned with the life I am building.

One of the hardest but most healing lessons I’ve learned is this:
You are who you say you are.

Yes, your parents may have laid a foundation but the building? That’s on you.

I am no longer that teenager who blames her environment for everything.
I am no longer waiting for my community to clap before I believe in my sound.

If I want to become a global voice, a changemaker, a woman of impact, I must first believe that I am her.
Only then can I build the discipline, take the risks, and put in the work.

So no, I am not just dreaming anymore.
I am rising.
I am reclaiming my voice.
I am becoming.