The safety of being invisible Part 1

She did not remember when it started—only that, at some point, being unseen stopped feeling like a lack and began to feel like relief. Growing up, she learned rules that were never spoken aloud. Adults liked her best when she was quiet, when she did not ask too many questions, when she did not demand explanations or attention. She was praised for being “good,” and good meant manageable. Good meant predictable. Good meant not adding weight to already tired rooms. She was not ignored; she was approved of. And that distinction mattered. Approval was warm enough to survive on. It taught Adaugo that love did not need to be loud to be too real, and that sometimes silence was the price of belonging.Parents would always compare their children to her. "Why can't you be like Adaugo?"But being like Adaugo meant succumbing to being the "led" while you could be the "leader". But our African parents who would always prefer respect even over a three square meal believed that was the best way to behave. It just seems African parents collectively shared ancestors or let's be specific; Nigeria. Nigerian parenting most times is basically passing down all norms and values from parents whether it be good or not so far their parents trained them that way, they believed it would also bring up their children in the right way. Well, this is partly right but on the other hand, African parents always give off the impression that without respect, you've failed in life! So by all means, except you are a stubborn type, you will succumb most times to their decisions, their ridiculous opinions of you, their punishment over little matters, toxic love and all. Even the wealthy homes still experience this but on a lower rate. Some parents who broke from this shell of ill treatment from their parents made changes by bringing up their children in love but that wasn't the case for Adaugo.Adaugo became observant early. She noticed how quickly attention could shift from admiration to ridicule. One wrong word. One awkward pause. One mistake made in front of the wrong audience. She watched classmates become stories—whispered about, laughed at, reduced to moments they could not erase. Somewhere along the line, she decided that anonymity was safer than being memorable. School was where her abilities learned to speak on her behalf. She performed well academically, not out of desperation for praise, but because competence felt solid. Reliable. Her grades validated her without demanding that she stand in the spotlight.Teachers trusted her because she never caused disruption. They saw her as the "good girl". Classmates underestimated her because she never competed loudly. She occupied a careful middle space—capable, dependable, unthreatening. Presentations unsettled her, not because she lacked understanding, but because being watched made her thoughts scatter. Standing in front of a room felt like standing without protection. Her heart would race, her throat tighten, her mind suddenly too aware of itself. So she chose roles that kept her useful and offstage. She called it teamwork. Others called it humility.Occasionally, attention found her anyway.There was a day her name was announced for topping the class in a difficult subject. The room shifted. Heads turned. Applause followed—polite, controlled. Adaugo smiled because that was expected of her, but inside, something recoiled. Pride never had time to form. Being seen, even for something good, felt like exposure. After that, she learned to succeed quietly. She stopped raising her hand first. She waited for others to speak. Even when she had the clearest answer, she allowed it to remain unspoken until someone else voiced something similar. She told herself it did not matter who spoke, as long as the point was made. She buried her opinions in her heart.People misunderstood her, but Adaugo rarely corrected them. Silence was easier than clarification well in most cases. Clarification required visibility, and visibility required energy she was never sure she had.Over time, gradually without knowing, invisibility hardened into a habit. It no longer felt like a strategy but like a personality trait. She began to believe this was simply who she was—that some people were meant to lead from the front, and others were meant to support quietly from the edges.Invisibility protected her. It spared her embarrassment. It kept expectations low. It allowed her to observe the world without being pulled into its noise. She believed this was the "safe way to play".But protection has a way of overstaying its welcome.Because the same silence that kept Adaugo safe also kept her small. The same restraint that shielded her from scrutiny slowly taught her to doubt her right to take up space.She did not lose her voice all at once but something shocking happened in her university days...

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