Honestly, for a long time, I was very vocal on certain subjects and noticeably quiet on others. I spoke confidently where I felt safe, where my opinions aligned with what was expected, and where my voice would be affirmed rather than questioned. But on topics that felt more layered, more personal, or more likely to invite disagreement, I chose restraint.
At first, I framed that restraint as discernment. I told myself I was being thoughtful, that not every opinion needed to be public. And that’s true, not everything does. But over time, I began to recognize the pattern. I wasn’t just choosing silence out of wisdom. Sometimes I chose it out of discomfort.
It is easier to be vocal about ideas that cost you nothing. It is harder to speak clearly about subjects that require you to take responsibility for your perspective, culture, illness, growth, community, and power. Those are not neutral conversations. They demand a position.
I realized that my silence in certain areas was not protecting nuance. It was protecting comfort, mine and other people’s. And comfort is not the same thing as integrity.
Playing small with my voice did not mean I lacked thought. It meant I lacked the willingness to stand fully in what I believed. I would analyze. I would observe. I would reflect. But I would often stop short of a declaration. That shift is what’s changing now.
That pattern was clear in two areas of my life: culture and health.
With Carnival, I was comfortable celebrating. I could describe the colors, the music, the energy, the sense of freedom. I could post the photos and write about the experience. What I was slower to articulate were the more complicated observations; the shifts in community dynamics, the commercialization, the performance of identity, the things we praise publicly but question privately. It is easier to celebrate culture than to critically engage it. Celebration is welcomed. Analysis is not always.
So I celebrated loudly and analyzed these aspects quietly.
Sickle cell revealed the pattern in a different way. I could speak openly about awareness. I could share educational information. I could acknowledge resilience. But when it came to the deeper realities, the frustrations with healthcare systems, the fatigue of seeing your loved ones in pain, the emotional cost of chronic illness, being a caregiver, I was more measured. Not because I lacked clarity, but because those conversations carry weight. They challenge comfort. They demand accountability.
In both spaces, I realized I had been dividing my voice. The celebratory parts were public. The critical and complex parts were private. And that division no longer feels honest.
If I am going to write about Carnival, it cannot only be about spectacle; it must also include substance. If I am going to speak about sickle cell, it cannot be only about awareness; it must include systems, accountability, and lived realities. Anything less is a partial truth.
Becoming more public with my perspective means refusing to split my voice in half. It means allowing celebration and critique to coexist. It means allowing resilience and frustration to share space. It means acknowledging that lived experience produces analysis, not just emotion.
I no longer want to separate the celebratory from the critical, or the resilient from the frustrated. Both are true. Both are part of lived experience. Dividing my voice kept me comfortable, but it did not let me be complete. If I am going to write about culture, about illness, about growth, I intend to do so without splitting myself in half. Why I’m done dividing my voice is simple: clarity demands wholeness, and wholeness is the only way I know how to contribute meaningfully from here.
Xoxoxo
MeliMel