I used to think I had low self-esteem.
But now I wonder if I just inherited someone else’s voice and mistook it for my own.
You know the one.
The voice that tells you:
“You’re being too much.”
“You should’ve known better.”
“Why would they choose you?”
“Fix your face. Fix your tone. Fix everything.”
It doesn’t yell. It whispers.
But God, it’s heavy.
I thought I was the problem for not being confident.
Turns out, I just memorized criticism too well.
Some of us weren’t born insecure.
We were trained into it — gently, consistently, by people who claimed they loved us.
Maybe it was a parent who only praised you when you performed.
Maybe it was a partner who called you sensitive every time you cried.
Maybe it was a teacher who marked up your work in red ink but never said “well done.”
Love, when inconsistent, teaches you to earn it.
And once you start seeing love as something you have to qualify for, you begin negotiating with yourself constantly.
Don’t say that.
Don’t wear that.
Don’t take up space unless someone invites you to.
The sad thing is…
When the people who made you feel small are no longer around,
you become them.
To yourself.
You finish their sentences.
You beat yourself to the insult.
You micromanage your own softness.
And when you finally hear a kind voice — someone saying “You’re not too much,” or “You did your best” —
you flinch.
Because it sounds foreign. Untrustworthy. Unfamiliar.
Isn’t that wild?
We doubt kindness more than cruelty.
Your inner critic didn’t come from nowhere.
It was sculpted, word by word, moment by moment.
And it was probably someone you wanted love from.
Someone who made you believe their approval was the price of your peace.
And you paid.
In silence.
In self-erasure.
In endless efforts to be palatable, professional, perfect.
But here’s the part no one tells you:
You don’t have to kill your inner critic to heal.
You just have to question it.
When it tells you “You’re a burden,”
ask: “Whose voice is that really?”
When it says “You’ll mess this up,”
ask: “Who taught me to believe that trying is dangerous?”
Because once you trace the voice back to its origin,
you realize it doesn’t belong to you.
It never did.
And that’s when something shifts.
You stop trying to be louder than the voice.
You just stop giving it the mic.
And slowly — quietly — you begin to speak to yourself in a new language.
A softer one.
One that doesn’t ask you to shrink before you’re allowed to shine.
Because here’s the truth:
The voice in your head that says you’re not enough…
wasn’t born in you.
It was planted.
You get to unroot it.
You get to replace it.
You get to choose a new one.
And maybe this time —
let it sound like love.
If this resonated with you,
Subscribe for more soft rebellions, healing truths, and emotional clarity.
I write for the part of you that’s tired of performing, but not done growing.
And if this made something inside you ache… read this.
If you’ve ever swallowed your truth just to be accepted…
If you’ve ever stayed quiet just to keep the peace…
If you’ve ever twisted yourself into a softer version to be loved —
Then Taboo Talks was written for you.
This is not a self-help book.
It’s a mirror. A matchstick. A rebellion in paperback form.
Inside, you’ll confront the invisible performances you’ve internalized.
The lies you’ve normalized.
And the parts of yourself you’ve exiled just to feel like “enough.”
Read it if you’re ready to stop abandoning yourself to be chosen.
Read it if you’re tired of healing in private just to stay likable in public.
Read it if you’ve ever whispered: “This isn’t who I am.”
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Let’s burn the mask. Not ourselves.
