Quiet Weight
On doubts, dreams and the people we trust with both.
The Piece
No one questions the lion when it flees from fire or gets burned in it.
After all, it has always been the king of the jungle. Whether by dominance or survival, it has always shown up in the face of fear.
So perhaps this one moment of hesitation should be ignored.
Yet the cold breeze felt hot against my skin as I staggered home, face downcast.
It had been a good day at least, it should have been.
But I had just heard the people closest to me speak about me in a way they never would to my face.
They did not trust my dreams. They did not believe in my capacity to carry them.
The kettle in my hand had trembled as I moved to serve them.
Not violently just enough to betray me.
But as though something inside me had quietly loosened.
I have always wondered what community truly means.
Are they the ones who see your strength or the ones who wait for proof before they believe it exists?
I have lived mostly as a lone wolf.
But society has a way of placing us in rooms with others, whether we choose it or not.
And still, I was surprised when people who barely knew me stood up for me.
Spoke for me.
Held space for me.
I did not ask.
They offered.
And that unsettled something in me.
Perhaps we tell our dreams to the wrong people.
Perhaps we don’t.
But how did we arrive at a place where our sense of self leans so heavily on the quiet opinions of others?
They tell you to rest when you are strong.
And when you finally rest… they question your ambition.
Humans are unusual like that.
They say their doubts come from love, from protection.
But sometimes, they come from fear. Fear disguised as care.
The radio crackled softly in the background.
The signal got lost for a while and when it tuned back they were advertising.
The distant hum of a busy market filtered through the speakers and filled the room with aloofness.
Aunty Ada exhaled sharply.
“Nawa o. Today’s radio show is deep,” she said, turning my head gently as she continued braiding my hair.
She was quiet for a moment before continuing.
“I faced something like this after my divorce. When I wanted to open this salon, everybody discouraged me. I didn’t stop. No one would even lend me money, not even my father, nobody.”
She clicked her tongue.
“Overnight, I stopped being their ‘ada.’ I became something else… something less acceptable.”
Her fingers moved steadily through my hair.
“But look at me now,” she added, her voice softer.
“I am not where I want to be yet… but I am better than I was.”
She paused.
“I hope you are listening, Amy nwa.”
“Yes, ma,” I replied.
But my mind had already drifted quietly gathering thoughts, turning them over.
Later that night, I sat with myself longer than usual.
Not to defend my dreams.
Not to justify them.
But to examine them.
Perhaps there is truth hidden in doubt.
Not all of it but some of it.
And perhaps growth requires something I am still learning:
Intellectual humility.
The ability to listen.
To adjust.
To admit that others may see what you do not.
But even then…
Where does correction end,
and condescension begin?
And how do you remain open…
without becoming small?
I did not arrive at answers that night.
Only quiet decisions.
To speak less of ideas, and build more.
To show evidence of my ideas before defending them.
To listen but not surrender…. Not totally but also not destructive.
To take fear seriously, but not as final truth.
And to take my plans first to Allah, before I take them anywhere else.
Perhaps that is what it means to grow not louder conviction, but steadier direction.
And in the world of William Shakespeare, the world is your oyster.
With love, Hameedah.
Worth reading 🥰
Ouu this is beautiful!🥺🤍