No one wants to hear my voice.

I said this out loud this week.

“No one wants to hear my voice.”

I didn’t realise at the time, but it pissed me off.

It pissed me off so much I wrote it down in one of my many notebooks. It pissed me off so much I took the note book to my therapy session. So I could be pissed off about it some more.

I realised, through the medium of shouting at a person with a PhD, that at some point in the past few years I have begun censoring myself. Keeping quiet, because I’m tired of explaining myself.

I used to speak on live radio, I had popular shows, people did want to hear my voice. I used to be passionate about making content, and it was always content I wanted to consume. It didn’t have to be full and finished, and who cared how many folks listened to it, or watched, or read it.

Who cared if no one consumed your content? You just screamed at the sky and then danced in the moonlight.

But at some point I stopped. I decided that no one wanted to hear my voice. And that included me.