I Grieve What It Cost Me

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SEGMENT 5 · Soften and Forgive 

EPISODE 3

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I Grieve What It Cost Me

Reflecting on what we held back and what it cost us.

“Meet Dr. Kidi,” a friend would introduce me.

“No, that's not necessary,” I would say almost immediately. “Just call me Kidi.”

For years, I never introduced myself as a doctor outside the hospital or clinic. Even when someone introduced themselves as Dr. So-and-so, I would simply say, “I'm Kidi.”

I loved my name, but the “doctor” before it felt heavy.

I had spent years studying medicine, completing my training, and caring for patients. I was confident in my abilities as a physician. Yet when someone acknowledged that I was one, I felt the need to correct them.

People around me noticed. “She doesn't like to be called a doctor,” they would say.

And I wore that observation like a badge of honor.

Why?

Because, I worried that being introduced as a doctor might make someone else feel less important. And refusing the title was my way of being humble.

But does humility require us to minimize our accomplishments, hide our abilities, or make ourselves less important so others can feel valued?

Because that was exactly what I had done.

And it isn't always about refusing a title. I've seen people make themselves smaller in many ways. Staying quiet when they have something to say. Turning down opportunities because they don't feel deserving. Putting everyone else's needs ahead of their own.

We may not realize how much these beliefs have cost us until years later.

For me, it began long before I became a doctor.

The Girl Who Sang

I was not always someone who held back her voice.

In middle and high school, I was the girl who sang during recess, laughed loudly with friends, played volleyball, and even climbed the basketball hoop. I wasn't afraid to bend a few rules either. I shortened my uniform at our Jesuit-run school and questioned ideas that didn't make sense to me.

These things sometimes got me into trouble, and not every adult understood me.

But my parents did.

They encouraged me, believed in me, and gave me the confidence to pursue what I wanted.

They taught me that respect and humility go hand in hand. Respect meant treating everyone with dignity, regardless of their status. Humility meant knowing my own worth without believing I was better than anyone else.

In my family, we never had to diminish ourselves to honor someone else.

We practiced humility through the way we treated others. We addressed everyone by name, including those who worked in our home. We stood when elders entered the room and bowed to greet them. We called those who had less than we did yene bete, meaning “my kind, someone like me.” And when we disagreed, we talked through our differences rather than argued.

Outside our home, however, I began to notice that humility meant something different, especially for girls.

Girls who were quiet, modest, and agreeable were praised. Girls who spoke their minds or questioned things were often told to tone it down.

I was one of the girls who were told to tone it down. Not because I was disrespectful, but because I asked questions and challenged things that didn't make sense to me.

As I grew older, I became more aware of how others responded to me. I began holding back what I wanted to say, worried that I might disappoint someone or make them uncomfortable. I foll

ምን ይሉኛል? (Min yilugnal?)

What will people say about me?

In Amharic, we have a word for this concern: ይሉኝታ (Yelugnta). It describes the weight we give to what others might think or say about us.

I cannot tell you exactly when that question began to shape my choices. At first, I became more careful about what I said and did. Then I began holding back my opinions, agreeing with things I questioned, and going along with the group even when I felt differently. Over time, I became so used to fitting in that I hardly noticed how much of myself I was leaving out.

I began apologizing for my thoughts before anyone had even heard them.

“I could be wrong, but…”

“This might be stupid, but…”

I was so concerned about how others might react that I felt the need to make my words smaller before I even spoke them.

Over time, What will people say? became How will what I say or do make others feel?

There is nothing wrong with caring about how our words and actions affect others. But yelugnta can go beyond being considerate. We may stay quiet when we disagree, say yes when we want to say no, or take on more than we can manage because we don't want to disappoint anyone.

We can exhaust ourselves trying to make everyone else comfortable.

I began to feel responsible for how others felt, not just for how I treated them. And that concern eventually made me uncomfortable acknowledging my own achievements, afraid that doing so might make others feel less capable or important.

And I know I'm not the only one who has learned to hold back parts of themselves to make others comfortable.

The Parts of Ourselves We Learn to Hide

Maybe you recognize something of yourself in my story.

Perhaps you were the child who was told you talked too much, so you learned to be quiet. Now, even when you have something important to say, you wait for someone else to speak.

Or someone made a comment about your appearance years ago. You still remember those words, and somewhere along the way, you began avoiding photographs or hiding parts of your body.

Maybe you loved to sing, dance, draw, or write, but someone told you that you weren't good enough. So you stopped. And years later, you still tell people you have no talent.

Or perhaps you became the person everyone could count on. The one who always said yes, always helped, and never complained. People praised you for being generous and dependable. But somewhere along the way, you stopped asking yourself what you needed.

We do not always recognize what we have given up to become the people others expect us to be.

Sometimes we mistake it for humility. Sometimes we tell ourselves we are simply being responsible or realistic.

And when others praise us for those qualities, we may hold on to them even more tightly.

Until one day, we forget that we ever had a choice.

We simply believe this is who we are.

I Grieve What It Cost Me

For years, I never questioned why I held back my opinions, worried about disappointing others, or felt uncomfortable accepting recognition. I simply believed that was who I was.

But as I began practicing self-awareness, I started noticing things I had always taken for granted.

Why did I apologize before sharing an opinion?

Why was I so quick to dismiss a compliment?

Why was I comfortable with the responsibilities of being a doctor but uncomfortable being called one?

And why did acknowledging my achievements make me worry about how others might feel?

I began to understand that these were beliefs I had learned over time. They were not necessarily who I was.

But recognizing them was one thing. Changing them took practice.

I had to learn to speak my mind without apologizing first, accept recognition without explaining it away, and say no without feeling responsible for someone else's disappointment.

As I became more comfortable doing these things, I began to look back at the years when I hadn't.

The parts of myself I had held back. The opportunities I might have missed. The years I had spent trying to become someone others would accept.

I could not know what might have been different. And I could not get those years back.

I grieved what I had lost along the way.

Not because I regretted the woman I had become. I was proud of her and the life she had built.

But I also had to acknowledge what it had cost me to become that woman.

And I wonder what this brings up for you.

Is there something you once loved doing but gradually stopped?

A dream you set aside because someone convinced you it was unrealistic?

A part of your personality you learned to hide because it made others uncomfortable?

Or years you spent putting everyone else's needs ahead of your own?

You may have built a life you love and be proud of the person you have become. And still, there may be things you wish you had allowed yourself to do, say, or become.

Grieving what you have lost does not mean regretting who you have become. You were doing what you believed was right with the understanding you had at the time.

You cannot change the years behind you, but you can change how you look back at them and how you choose to move forward.

And that is what I invite you to explore in today's Tinfash Healing Time practice.

Tinfash Healing Time Practice: Acknowledging What Was Lost

Take a moment to sit quietly and breathe.

Think of a part of yourself you learned to hold back.

What did you stop saying, doing, or pursuing?

What did it cost you?

You do not have to explain it away, judge yourself, or make peace with it today.

For now, simply acknowledge what you lost.

Allow yourself to feel whatever comes, even if nothing comes at all.

A Closing Reflection

Even as I write this, I notice the urge to explain that I still value humility. There it is again, that familiar need to make sure no one misunderstands me.

But this time, I pause, breathe, and choose to let my words stand without defending them.

I wonder what the younger version of me might have done differently if she had known that she could honor others without making herself smaller.

I cannot give those years back to her. But I can choose how I live today.

Maybe there is something you wish you had understood sooner, too. Something that might have changed the way you lived or the choices you made.

But neither of us had the understanding then that we have today. And we do not have to keep judging ourselves for that.

I understood it when I did. And so did you.

In our next episode, Let’s Get Off the Timeline, we will explore why healing does not have to follow a schedule, and why there is no deadline for becoming who we are.

Mantra

I acknowledge what I lost without blaming who I was.

Journal Invitation

Write by hand.

Think of a time when you held back a part of yourself to meet others' expectations.

What did you hold back, and what did it cost you?

Write about it without judging yourself.

Meditation

https://youtu.be/zbSrzNKQwEE

With that, we begin our healing connection.

Embrace the journey. Keep listening. Healing knows the way.

Love and more love,

Dr. Kidi

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