I lost my Colour

I Lost My Colour

I remember being a very vibrant child growing up, the kind who waved at strangers and was friends with everybody. I was also very inquisitive as a child; I always had one question or another. 

One of the many nicknames I had growing up was “Omolawya” . You couldn’t just give me an instruction or tell me what to do without me asking why? I thought I’d become a lawyer someday. But that’s a story for another time.

I still remember an elderly person telling me, “You are a talkative.”

My response? “I’m a talker but I am not a thief.”

Some adults admired that courage. Others called it rude and disrespectful. I asked too many questions. I challenged authority. Even my parents weren’t always sure what to do with me.

Over time, the negative voices got louder, and I let it get to me. 

What started as adults labeling me ‘disrespectful’ grew into peers calling me names because I was “too friendly,” according to their standards. 

Secondary school actually did the most, to be honest.

I remember the exact day I decided to switch myself off. I stopped smiling. Hardened my heart. I became cold, guarded, unreadable and I’ve stayed that way for quite a while now.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked, “Why are you always frowning?” I’d be rich rich like Mark Zuckerberg kind of rich.

I’m not writing this to dwell on pain. I’ve healed. But I have really missed her, the girl I used to be, and for the longest time, I assumed that I lost my colour because of other people.

But what if I didn’t lose it?

What if I adapted it?

What if I evolved into someone who needed armour at the time and that was a survival skill, not a flaw?

What if my “colour” isn’t gone; maybe it’s just changed shades?

What if my quieter, guarded self is just another valid version of me and I don’t have to go back to childhood brightness?

I used to think I had to find my colour,  like it was something lost, waiting to be recovered.

But I’m learning that colour isn’t always loud or in-your-face.

It doesn’t always have to sparkle to be real.

Maybe… it was never lost. Maybe it just changed form..

These days, I’m choosing softness again. I’m choosing courage, not the loud kind that demands attention, but the quiet kind that allows love in, even when it feels unfamiliar and scary.

I’m paying attention to the lessons this season is teaching me: that I can be guarded and still be open, I can be wise and still be warm.

So no, I didn’t lose my colour.

I’m building it.

Brick by brick. Layer by layer. In full, evolving shades.

And I’ll keep showing up 

Brightly, Slowly, and Boldly.