Everyone has a story [not] to tell.

Everyone has a story [not] to tell

"Everyone has a story [not] to tell."

“Hmm, this hits differently,” exactly how I said it after Ibrahim made the above statement.

I paused for a moment and nodded in agreement. "You are right!"

Some people speak. Some people stay quiet. But almost everyone is carrying something.

It reminded me of someone. I will call him, Ifẹ. He was the quiet listener in every circle. While others poured out their fears, heartbreaks, and frustrations, Ifẹ would just listen. Not half-heartedly, not distracted. He gave people his full presence. When someone cried, he didn’t panic. He just stayed. When the room felt heavy, he’d crack a small joke that made you exhale. He had this gentle way of making others feel safe without ever needing to say much about himself.

Everyone loved talking to him. Everyone left feeling lighter. But one afternoon, I found him sitting alone by the window. Shoulders hunched. Eyes clouded. No smile, no joke.

I asked, “Ifẹ, is anything the matter? Do you want to talk about it?” He sighed and looked down for a moment. Then he said, “I’ve always been the one listening. I guess I never learned how to speak my own heart.”

That moment broke something in me, and I learnt something too.

Just like one lady who I once met said in her shaky voice, “Sir, if I ever have to tell my story, I don’t know where to begin. And I don’t know if I’ll be believed.”

I felt it. Maybe because I was once in similar shoes.

Being silent doesn’t mean nothing’s there.

Some people are quiet because they’re still trying to make sense of the noise inside. Or because, when they once spoke, no one really heard them.

Not every story is ready to be told. Not every heart feels safe enough to open. But that doesn’t mean the story isn’t real. Or important. Or sacred.

So maybe we need to stop asking people to "speak up" and start learning to be still while we listen without rushing, without fixing, and without judgment.

And maybe if you’re someone who listens like Ifẹ, someone who holds others but struggles to be held, I just want to remind you: You’re allowed to be tired too. You’re allowed to need someone. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time.

Your story, even if it lives in silence for now, still matters deeply.

Let’s be softer with one another. Let’s listen better. And when words don’t come, I hope love will still find its way in.

You are seen. You are not alone. And when you're ready—we’ll be here to listen with love.

#Sakaspeaks

Afeez Olalekan SAKA © 2025