They tell you, don't they?
"Be reasonable."
"Don't make a scene."
"Think of others."
A quiet, persistent hum, a societal drone that settles into the marrow of your bones, whispering,
reduce yourself.
Fold yourself smaller.
Become palatable.
And what happens when we listen?
What blooms in the fertile darkness of silenced desires?
Depression, a heavy, damp shroud, settles over the spirit.
At its core, it is robbery—a major theft of one's identity.
This suppression, this careful tucking away of the parts of us that dare to be vibrant, that sing with a discordant, beautiful melody, is a slow, insidious erosion.
Particularly during childhood, but extending into other stages of life, we are often pressured to conform to societal expectations.
We are encouraged to be "agreeable," "unassuming," and "manageable" to diminish our true selves. This suppression of our authentic selves, this muting of our inner voice, can have detrimental effects.
The day my cousin Bami stopped speaking was the day I first understood the weight of silence. She had always been vibrant—quick to laugh, quicker to argue—until the morning she sat at breakfast, her eyes downcast, responding only in nods and shakes.
Her mother had scolded her the previous night for being "too loud, too much." By afternoon, Bami’'s silence had transformed from rebellion to habit.
By the month's end, something in her eyes had dimmed.
The Violence of Silence
There is a particular violence in teaching someone to swallow their voice. It begins subtly with a raised eyebrow at an enthusiastic opinion, a dismissive wave when emotions run high, the constant refrain of "calm down" when one is perfectly calm but simply passionate.
We learn to fold ourselves smaller, to speak in whispers, to apologize for taking up space. This folding inward is not natural; it is learned, and what is learned can become a prison.
Think of the child who loves to paint with colours that scream, not whisper. Told, gently, or perhaps with a sharp reprimand, that such boldness is "too much." That softer hues, more muted tones, are "nicer." The child, malleable, eager for approval, begins to dim the colours, to soften the edges. And in that act, a tiny seed of self-betrayal is sown.
We carry these seeds into adulthood. We learn to edit our opinions, to swallow our truths, to present a carefully curated facade to the world. We become experts in the art of polite evasion, in the language of coded silence. We learn to smile when we want to scream, to nod when we want to argue, to disappear when we want to stand tall.
When we suppress our authentic expression, whether through cultural expectations, fear of judgment, or past punishment, we commit a kind of self-betrayal.
The words unsaid collect inside like sediment in a river, eventually damming the flow of our natural emotional current. This obstruction is not simply symbolic; it has both physical and mental manifestations.
The human spirit was not designed for prolonged containment.
When we deny expression to fundamental aspects of our identity, our faith or lack thereof, our creative impulses, our political convictions, even our sense of humour, we do not eliminate these qualities. We merely force them underground, where they transform from sources of potential joy into wellsprings of despair.
And what, then, of the things we bury?
The dreams we stifle, the passions we ignore, the desires we deny?
They do not simply vanish.
They fester, they grow heavy, they become a leaden weight in the pit of our stomachs. They manifest as anxiety, as irritability, as a profound sense of emptiness.
The body, that remarkable vessel, is not fooled. It registers the dissonance, the constant battle between the authentic self and the performative self. The heart, that faithful drum, beats a rhythm of discontent. The mind, that intricate tapestry of thoughts and emotions, becomes a battleground of conflicting voices.
Constantly suppressing one's true thoughts and feelings can lead to depression. This act of suppression requires significant cognitive effort, which can strain mental resources and trigger stress-related physiological responses such as elevated heart rate and increased anxiety. Over time, these effects accumulate and contribute to depressive symptoms and a diminished sense of self-worth.
Research reveals that suppressing one's true self can lead to depression, anxiety, and substance abuse, confirming what many have personally experienced. A study showed that young adults who couldn't express themselves openly within their families were three times more likely to experience major depressive episodes. This trend is consistent across different cultures, socioeconomic backgrounds, and geographic locations.
The Cultural Dimensions of Suppression
In many African households like mine, children are taught early that certain expressions are inappropriate. Boys shouldn't cry. Girls shouldn't be angry. Everyone should respect elders, even when those elders are wrong. These lessons, delivered with love and good intentions, often create adults who struggle to recognize their own emotional landscapes.
The postcolonial context adds another layer to this suppression. When a culture has been told for generations that its ways of being are inferior, its people often internalize a deep ambivalence about self-expression. We become translators of ourselves, constantly code-switching between who we are and who we believe we should be to gain acceptance.
This is particularly true for those with lower social status and power, who research shows are more likely to suppress the expression of emotion. The hierarchy of society thus becomes inscribed in our very ability to express ourselves authentically.
Consider Adanna, brilliant and ambitious, who learned to make herself small in meetings, to phrase her insights as questions, to laugh off sexual harassment because confronting it might cost her the career she had sacrificed everything to build. After years of swallowing her words and her anger, she found herself unable to eat, unable to sleep, unable to feel anything beyond a dull, persistent ache.
Depression is not merely sadness. It is a profound disconnection. A severing of the ties that bind us to our own essence. It is the feeling of being a stranger in your own skin, of living a life that feels somehow… borrowed.
We are told, often with well-meaning intentions, to "just be positive." To "look on the bright side." As if depression were a simple matter of perspective, a mere adjustment of attitude. But it is not. It is a complex, multifaceted condition that requires understanding, compassion, and often, professional help.
It is also, I believe, a rebellion. A silent, desperate cry from the soul, demanding to be heard. A refusal to be silenced any longer. It is the body saying, enough. I will not be contained. I will not be diminished.
The Healing Power of Expression
Yet, there is profound healing in reclaiming our voices. Self-expression serves as a bridge connecting our internal state with our external experience. When we express ourselves—through words, art, movement, or any authentic medium—we create pathways for emotional release and catharsis.
It is about claiming the full spectrum of our humanity. Joy expressed multiplies. Grief shared lightens. Anger acknowledged transforms.
Each honest expression is an act of self-recognition that says: I am here, I matter, my experience is valid.
The benefits of self-expression for mental health are well-documented. It reduces stress and anxiety, promotes mental clarity, and builds emotional resilience. Regular self-expression can enhance self-confidence and strengthen decision-making aligned with one's true self. Perhaps most importantly, it combats the isolation that often accompanies depression by creating authentic connections with others.
Breaking free from patterns of suppression requires courage.
It means risking disapproval, confronting the discomfort of authenticity after years of performance, and learning a new language of selfhood.
For many, this journey begins with small acts of truth-telling. Writing in a journal no one will read. Speaking an honest opinion in a safe space. Creating art that reflects an internal reality rather than external expectations. These seemingly minor acts are revolutionary in their affirmation of the self.
The cruelty is that suppression often begins as self-protection. We hide to survive. We conceal to belong. We silence ourselves to keep peace, to maintain relationships, to advance in our careers, to stay safe in hostile environments. The very mechanism meant to protect us eventually becomes the source of our suffering.
What is the solution?
It would be irresponsible to suggest that everyone should express every aspect of themselves without consideration of context or consequence. The privileges of complete authenticity are not equally distributed. But perhaps the path forward begins with creating spaces—however small—where masks can be removed safely. Perhaps it starts with the radical act of witnessing others in their fullness without demanding that they shrink.
In my own life, I have found that depression recedes when I allow myself even small acts of honest self-expression: writing without worrying who might read it, speaking a difficult truth to a trusted friend, refusing to laugh at jokes that diminish me. These moments are like opening windows in a room that has been sealed for too long—the fresh air may not transform everything immediately, but it makes breathing possible again.
As we practice expression, we often discover parts of ourselves long buried under layers of accommodation and people-pleasing. This rediscovery can be both exhilarating and terrifying—like meeting a stranger who is somehow also intimately familiar.
The path is not linear. There will be moments of retreat into old patterns, especially when vulnerability feels too risky. But each return to authentic expression strengthens the muscle of selfhood.
The Collective Dimension
This struggle is not merely individual. When we suppress our authentic selves, we also lose the unique contributions we might make to our communities. The poem unwritten, the solution unshared, the perspective unvoiced—these are collective losses.
When cultures are created that encourage genuine expression, our shared humanity is enhanced. This creates spaces with less opportunity for depression, where a multitude of human experiences can shed light on our shared problems.
The path from suppressing to expressing ourselves is rarely straightforward or complete. Most of us will always struggle to balance being our true selves with adapting to our circumstances. However, the first step to healing is acknowledging the link between what we hide and how we suffer. The world as it is now may not always accept our whole selves. But our whole selves deserve to exist somewhere - in journals, in art, in private conversations, and in communities we create for this very reason.
Bami, my cousin, eventually rediscovered her voice - a new voice, stronger and wiser from having experienced silence. Now, she speaks with the authority of someone who comprehends both the oppression of suppression and the liberation of expression. Her journey serves as a reminder that even though silence can imprison us, our voices hold the key to our freedom.
And so, we must learn to listen. To listen to the whispers of our own hearts, to the yearnings of our own souls. We must learn to reclaim the parts of ourselves that we have so carefully hidden away. To allow ourselves the freedom to be messy, to be imperfect, to be gloriously, unapologetically ourselves.
Denying our truths for too long dims the essential humanity in all of us. Reclaiming that light is not only a path away from depression but also a journey towards the people we were always meant to be.