Self-restraint is supposedly a wonderful trait. Among all the other wonderful qualities a person can have, the one where you are usually praised for is the ability to resist from within. It's not too strange in circumstances where doing 'too much' or over-exertion is a concern, but restraint by itself is not nearly as regulated so openly as its opposite. Why it that, such a prided trait in a person by others isn't well spoken for by the individual exercising it themselves? It's quite simple: Self-restraint is a lesson in futility. You have put yourself on a leash with a length you assume you can tolerate. Reasoning and contending with the fact that 'it's probably for the best'. For your best or someone else's is a distinction that will remain unknown and forgotten to time until the leash has worn down and the wearer has become accustomed to having it on and holding the end in their hands. I'm aware of how much good can come with reservations but many people, myself included have not found reward for our continued silence over repercussions. This seemingly innocuous choice leads to apathy towards ourselves and others because we know someone else will eventually speak up for us. Someone else will take the chances that we don't, and someone else will speak for us when we think it's best not to. When you live long enough as a black woman in the US of A, the idea of 'risk-aversion' and the lifestyle that comes with constant consideration with others inevitably warps the mind to the point where nothing will be vouched for our own sake. So we must ask ourselves, how do we find our voice again? We write. I write. I don't do it often, and I don't write in a conventional sense but I write. It forces me to say something about me and my identity that I usually have no intention to share. Even if it may be minimized by sensibilities and facts, I've become tired of living with the regrets of 'what-if' I did something instead of the nothing. Now, instead of nothing, I put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. I've put pieces of my thought process outside my mind and I've felt better for it. To specify, my unconventional idea of writing isn't journaling or blogging, but commentary. Anyone can write criticisms and anyone can share their opinion on anything. Yet the discussed standard are people who seldom speak out enough at all, so writing anything, in my mind is a good start. I'd like to believe I'm providing more than just criticism, though. I've asked for more from writers when I can't do so myself. That form of expression seems to be a far reach from what I'm capable of. I've tried fictional tales of creatures and heroes trying to be bigger than themselves; non-fiction with little allusions to my own circumstances of mildly sexist and homophobic family surrounding my thoughts; poetry with attempts to make the mundane a little more appealing. All of that, just to end up writing in the assistance of others. But I don't hate it. I don't hate the conversations I have with writers. I don't hate reviewing and revising because I know I'm helping. I know I'm accenting something that's already good. In doing so, I'd like to hope I can willingly write just a little more for myself.