Own Your Narrative

Growing up, I was a good boy.

Well behaved.
Well kempt.
Did what I was told — and sometimes extra, just in case.

Some kids had hobbies.
I had a reputation to maintain.

As I grew older, I became a good friend.

The dependable one.

I have bought sanitary pads for a friend who ran out…
and condoms for another who hoped not to.

I was the official alibi when someone went on a secret date —
which meant I always knew what flavour ice-cream she and I had that evening.

I discussed recipes with their mothers,
and for years aunties were confused which daughter I was dating.

None.

I was dating approval.

I had opinions… but never a voice.

Movie or dinner? — whatever works for you.
Stay in or go out? — I’m good either way.
“I don’t feel like going anymore.” — perfect, I also wasn’t in the mood.

I was incredibly easy to be around.

At work — always available.
No deadline too short, no task too small.
Polite. Reliable. Pleasant.

In arguments, I rearranged sentences so nobody fought.
In jokes, I laughed before the punchline — preventive diplomacy.

I wasn’t lying.

I was being … nice.

To me, nice meant no disagreement, no confrontation, no discomfort.

Then I started running a company.

And for the first time… silence became a decision.
Being nice wasn’t kindness anymore.

Earlier, when something went wrong,
someone seniorer, wiser, adult-ier would step in.

Here — nobody did.

That’s when it hit me.
I was the adult-ier.

My instinct was simple — fix it fast.

But I tried something uncomfortable instead.

I asked before I advised.

And the conversation changed.

People explained instead of defended.
We weren’t trying to be right anymore —
just trying to understand.

That’s when I understood —

Nice keeps things comfortable.
Kind makes things better.

All those years I thought staying quiet was helping…
I was only staying safe.
From disagreement. From being wrong. From being seen.

Because nice is how others experience you.

Kind…
is how you experience yourself.

And the day I understood that,
my reputation stayed the same —

but my story finally became mine.