Making Space for the Voice I Was Taught to Silence
There was a version of me who never spoke first - a product of being told she was not enough.
She walked into rooms scanning for safety, not opportunity. Adjusted her tone. Diminished her volume. Matched the lowest energy in the room just to avoid drawing too much attention. I learned early that saying the wrong thing could cost you something - approval, affection, even security. So I learned how to be palatable.
That version of me said just enough, never too much. She learned how to speak in captions instead of paragraphs because oversharing was seen as desperate, and silence looked like weakness. And honestly? I got really good at it. At the performance. At the stillness that looked like poise but was really just fear of being rejected.
Later, there came another version of me - one who overcompensated. In rooms where I felt invisible, I over-explained. I’d give every detail of every story just to make sure I was understood, defended, and protected from judgment. I thought that if I could say everything first, maybe no one else could say something worse. I thought clarity equaled safety.
Here’s what I’ve learned since: half the time, I don’t even fully understand myself - and that’s okay. So why bother feeling as though everyone else should?
Why This Column Exists
I’ve reached a point where I no longer want to filter myself for the comfort of others. I don’t want to crop, edit, or reframe everything to sound more digestible. I want a place where I can say what I actually think - without the pressure to make it likable.
That’s why I’m starting The Column (title pending - I'm picky and dramatic, what can I say). It's a space for the thoughts I've spent years shrinking down, flattening out, or keeping to myself. It’s not about being right. It’s not about being agreeable. It’s about being present. Being honest. And doing something for myself.
And also, being heard by people who want to listen.
The Real Cost of "Energy Matching"
Let’s talk about energy matching. It sounds harmless - polite, even. The idea of matching the vibe in the room to keep the peace. I first learned the term from a boy I dated (key word here, boy). He prided himself on being easygoing, but in reality, he used neutrality to avoid accountability. His ability to read the room was just a tactic to dodge confrontation.
What I didn’t realize was that I’d start doing the same thing. The difference being - he did it to keep the peace. I did it to survive.
I became the “nice girl.” The version of myself who could win people over in any context. The type who could charm a room without ever revealing who she actually was. I learned how to be who people wanted me to be. Sparkly but never disruptive. Sharp but not threatening. Friendly but not too familiar. I made myself the perfect supporting character.
It worked - for a while. But eventually, I lost track of what I actually wanted. Who I actually was.
Taylor Swift said it best in mirrorball:
“I can change everything about me to fit in.”
Only instead of peace, I found myself in situation (- ships, lets be honest here) I never belonged in.
Because when you shapeshift long enough, you start to forget what your original shape even looked like.
Then Came the Overcorrection
After enough emotional burnout, I went in the opposite direction. I tried to be the most in every room. If I wasn’t going to be liked for being quiet, I’d be impossible to ignore for being loud. I needed to be the funniest. The most insightful. The one who left a mark.
But even that was a form of survival. Oversharing became a strategy. If I told the whole story - including every trauma, every regret, every apology - I could control how people saw me. I thought if I was transparent enough, I couldn’t be misunderstood.
Spoiler: I still was.
Because oversharing is still performing when it’s done to manage perception. It’s still protecting yourself from rejection by staying one step ahead of it. It’s just a louder mask.
Finding the Middle
For most of my life, I’ve operated in extremes: shrinking or over - performing. I was either silent or oversaturated. And while both felt like control, they were actually fear in disguise.
This past year, I’ve finally started finding something in the middle.
A way to be kind without being silent.
A way to be real without handing everyone the whole script.
The balance isn’t easy. Sometimes I still second-guess. Sometimes I still ramble. But I’m learning that I don’t owe anyone the polished version, or even anything at all.
Not anymore.
I owe myself honesty.
I owe the Lord authenticity.
And I owe those who are in the same place I was a voice that’s finally not afraid to speak without asking for permission.
Because at the end of the day, that’s what this column is about.
It’s not about being loud.
It’s about being free.
The hope in finding balance between overperformance and conformity.
