Today's Rant Has No Title.

I’ve always known that people talk. That words—thrown carelessly, disguised as jokes, disguised as honesty—are often sharper than they should be. But what I didn’t realize until much later is that some people don’t talk just to express. They talk to cut.

I used to think that if I wrote honestly—if I poured my thoughts onto a page exactly as they came, raw and unfiltered—the world would meet me with the same honesty in return. That people would read, understand, and maybe even find a piece of themselves in my words. And for the most part, they did. The beautiful ones did. The ones who saw my words not as complaints but as the fragments of my broken self I wanted to share. The ones who read between the lines, who understood that vulnerability isn’t a performance but a release. I could begin to write a list, but keeping the names to myself feels so intimate tand I do not want to ruin that.

But then there are the others. Others,sigh.

The ones who read just to pick apart. Who don’t really engage with the message but with the idea of me that they’ve built in their heads. Who see my words not as an exploration but as an accusation. Who flinch at my honesty, not because it isn’t true, but because it forces them to look at something they’d rather avoid—either in themselves or in the world around them.

I was nine when I first learned this lesson. A distant uncle, casually discussing with his wife, deciding who was prettier between my sister and me. As if we were two dresses on a rack. As if we weren’t standing right there, hearing every word. As if we weren’t supposed to remember. But I did. Not because I cared about their verdict—I didn’t, and still don’t—but because it taught me something early on: people will comment on things they have no business commenting on, and they will act like it means nothing.

And that’s just one example.

I’ve lost count of the times someone has seen me after months and the first thing they say is, Ah, you look different o! You’ve added weight! Or What happened to your skin? You used to have that baby face we all admired. As if I asked. As if their words change anything. As if they aren’t aware that their observations aren’t compliments. Bro,the mirrors in my house are totally functional and I don't need you to remind me of anything that'd set of low self-esteem in me.

Then there are the aunties. The ones who seem to have a PhD in unsolicited advice. You’re getting too slim, men don’t like that. You’re getting too fat, be careful o, obesity starts like this. I think you're the one eating your sister's portions because you look hugeee! Poor tiny me. You’re getting older, better start thinking of marriage. Poor me who barely crossed into adulthood a few hours ago. You’re too ambitious, men don’t like that. This writing thingy of yours, sha don’t let all the emotional whatever get into your head. I don’t know who assigned them this role, but they take it seriously. As if your body, your choices, your life is a public forum for discussion.

And let’s not forget the ones who see you as competition, even when you’re not competing. The ones who will subtly (or not so subtly) undermine you, who will throw jabs disguised as jokes, who will act like your confidence is arrogance, your achievements a personal attack. They don’t dislike you for who you are—they dislike you for what you represent. A reminder of what they could be, what they failed to be, or what they are too scared to become. That you were too scared to live a carefree,happy youthful life doesn't mean you should try to confine every other person to such torture.

But that’s the thing—none of this is about me. Or you. It’s about them. Their own dissatisfaction. Their own unprocessed emotions. Their own need to deflect. It’s the same way people will fight each other over a man who is playing them both instead of directing their energy where it actually belongs. A totally misplaced aggression. A defense mechanism. Because what happened to ganging to put the scumbag in his place? It's a habit they’ve perfected over time.

This is what I’ve learned: people will project their insecurities onto you, and they will call it honesty. They will call it an opinion, a joke, a harmless comment. But it is none of those things. It is their pain, wrapped in words meant to cut you down so they don’t feel so alone in it.

And I’ve stopped carrying it for them. Not carrying unnecessary things —this is my mantra in 2025 and in forever.

Because at the end of the day, I get to decide what I internalize. What I let in. What I give power to. And not every comment deserves space in my mind. Some things deserve to be ignored. Some words deserve to be returned to the sender. And the best way to do that is not bulging.

If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of these words—the unsolicited comments, the backhanded remarks, the casual jabs disguised as concern—know this: you are not what they say you are. You do not have to carry the weight of someone else’s insecurities. You do not have to shrink yourself to fit into their expectations.

People will always have something to say. Maybe because they are intimidated by how definitive your aura is. By how you can be imperfect and still so beautiful. By how you are a natural at everything you do, how you carry yourself so effortlessly. They can’t come out and say they feel sidelined, or jealous, or insecure—so they do the next fastest thing. They try to speak flaws into the perfect imagery of you, hoping you’ll believe them, hoping you’ll see yourself through their distorted lens.

But you don’t have to live by their opinions. You don’t have to let their words take root in your mind.

You are allowed to take up space. To exist as you are without guilt or self doubt. To grow at your own pace.

And if ever you start to doubt that, remember this: the problem was never you. It was never about you. It was about them.

So let them talk. But don’t let them define you. Or quench your radiance.

And next time,you give someone a subtle signal to shut up when they're playing this game of emotions with you and they don't listen—do this to them, figuratively or literally.👇