As I reflect on a chapter of my life from many years ago, a time when my then-husband confessed his infidelity, I am struck by the stark contrast between the person I was then and the woman I have become. In those days, my voice was merely an echo of the expectations placed upon me by society, upbringing, and the norms I had internalised since childhood.

If I could transport the strength and conviction I possess now back to that moment, the narrative would have been vastly different. The pain and betrayal would still have cut deep, but I would have shown my former husband the door without hesitation, protecting the sanctity of our home and the well-being of our youngest son.

Back then, my voice was shaped by the expectation to accommodate, to submerge my own needs and values beneath the weight of societal expectations. I was devastated, yet when my ex-husband urged me to keep the revelation hushed until he had spoken to our church pastor, I obediently followed his directive. It wasn't in my nature then to confront and demand accountability. My voice was not my own; it echoed the notes of others, harmonizing with the values I had been taught.

Looking back, I realise that my ex-husband's modus operandi was to bury issues, hoping they would vanish with time. Reflecting on the situation now, it's clear that waiting for him to take the initiative was futile. I had to raise the issues myself and force his hand. My voice back then lacked the strength and self-assuredness it holds today.

My younger self believed she had to play small, in the idea that her voice held little value. And I owe her kindness and compassion because she simply didn't know any better. She hadn't been taught to stand up for herself, to assert her rights, or to speak her truth. The societal narrative prescribed submissiveness, quietness, and downplaying her values.

Even if I had possessed my current strength, I might still have desired reconciliation, but with a condition: my ex-husband would only be welcome back if he figured out why he strayed. "I don't know why I did it" wouldn't have sufficed. The imperative was for him to delve into his own psyche and understand the roots of his actions.

In speaking up and eventually telling my husband I was leaving, I was stepping into my power for the very first time. It was a leap into the unknown, a daunting journey into an uncertain future. Yet, even with a shaky voice and uncertainty, I spoke the truth—the truth that was essential for my life.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I see that every voice, no matter how small or wavering, is significant. Today, I stand on a larger platform, aware that there are countless women whose voices are stifled, who have been conditioned to play small.

Whether our voices are soft or resonate loudly, we can speak our truth. In shaping the world of the 21st century, we must recognise the value, validity, and necessity of our voices. It is through these voices that we can bring about real change.