We are always told to be quiet.
To give them respect.
To not interrupt.
To sit still.
To listen.
And so anytime we were misbehaving, chatting, or even just being kids, we were lectured.
As a child, whenever I was around elders or ceremonies, I wasn’t allowed to be talkative.
It was out of respect.
It was cultural.
It was sacred.
But what I didn’t realize then was how deeply that silence would stay with me.
Because when you grow up like that, and then you step into the mainstream world, something changes.
You start to unknowingly become a very quiet person.
That’s what happened to me.
When I got into school, I struggled.
Speaking in front of my peers felt impossible.
My hands would shake.
My voice would tremble.
I would stutter.
I was full of nerves, fear, and self-doubt.
And when I got to high school, it didn’t magically get better.
But I found something else.
I found sports.
And through sports, I found a gateway to express myself.
I found movement.
I found leadership.
I found belonging.
But still, when I stepped into the world of public speaking, it brought everything back.
Getting up on a stage, even in front of 20 people for 10 minutes, felt like standing on a cliff.
It was one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
Just because you were told to be quiet, doesn’t mean you don’t have something worth saying.
Just because your voice trembled once, doesn’t mean it always will.
We don’t all start out confident.
We grow into it.
One shaky word at a time.
And sometimes, the quietest kids become the most powerful speakers—because they know the weight of every word.
hiy hiy
