Steem4nigeria Accelerator Contest Week 98: My Voice, My Story

There was a time when silence was my second skin, not because I had nothing to say, but because I feared how I would say it.

Words felt heavy on my tongue. Certain syllables danced away before I could catch them properly. I'd start a sentence and see someone tilt their head, squint slightly, or try to "correct" me mid-speech, and so, gradually, I faded into the background of conversations. I mastered the nod, the smile, the polite chuckle. I listened more than I spoke, not by choice, but by shame.

For years, I carried this discomfort like a weight in my chest. In school, I'd write eloquently, but when it came to reading it aloud? I'd find any excuse to skip my turn. I wasn't shy. I just didn't want to be judged for speaking the way I did. But silence is a strange thing. The more you keep quiet, the more your voice starts to forget how to show up.

But I know better now.

Silence isn’t the solution. Understanding is. Owning your challenges is. And permitting yourself to grow, to speak up imperfectly, to be heard, even if the voice shakes. I realised I wasn’t alone. People who love me don’t care how I say it; they care what I say, and most importantly, that I say it at all.

So here I am, speaking...

If My Life Were a Book
It would be titled: "Becoming the Sound I Never Heard." Because for the longest time, I was quiet even when I should have been loud. I wanted someone to tell me that my voice mattered, but I had to learn to tell myself that first. Every page would be about the moments I dared to speak, and the lives I touched simply by being true to myself.

A Memory That Keeps Me Smiling
Oh, this one is easy. After the birth of my first daughter, tradition demanded hot foods and drinks for weeks. But I love yoghurt – cold, sweet, and comforting. And my husband, knowing that, would buy me my favourite yoghurt and warm it ever so gently, just enough to keep me within cultural expectations, but still able to enjoy what I loved.

That thoughtful gesture wasn’t just about food. It was about love that pays attention. The kind that finds small ways to say, "I see you." Whenever I remember it, I smile like it just happened yesterday.

If I Were a Superhero
I’d be called The Mender. Not because I fight villains with capes, but because I walk into broken spaces and help them feel whole. I mend stories, emotions, and sometimes even people. I believe in the gentle power of words, of healing, of looking someone in the eye and saying, "You matter." That’s my superpower, not loud, not flashy, but deeply real.

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So yes, this is my voice, my story. I may have been quiet before, but now I speak with intention, with emotion, and with hope. Because someone out there might be quiet for the same reason I was. And maybe, just maybe, my story can help them find their sound.

I would like to invite @etoro, @bossj23 @eliany to join this contest