The Words I Needed but Never Got

There are moments in life when silence weighs heavier than words. For me, it wasn’t the harsh things said that left the deepest scars—it was the words that were never spoken at all.

Growing up, I craved affirmation the way a plant craves sunlight. A simple “I’m proud of you” or “I believe in you” would have been enough to keep me pushing forward with more confidence. Instead, I was met with silence. My achievements, big or small, were brushed aside, treated as though they were nothing more than expected duties. I learned quickly that joy could not come from sharing—it had to be quietly nurtured within myself.

The strange thing is, you don’t realize how much you needed those words until you’re older. As a child, you accept the silence as normal. You grow accustomed to filling the empty spaces with your own imagination. You try to interpret gestures, smiles, or even nods, as if they could replace what was never spoken. But adulthood brings clarity, and with it, the painful recognition that some wounds were not from what was done to you but from what was withheld.

There were times I stood at doorways, waiting for acknowledgment. Times I rehearsed conversations in my head, desperate to hear encouragement. I remember holding certificates in my hands, waiting for someone to look at me with pride. Instead, there was only indifference. That silence became a part of me, shaping the way I measured my worth.

I often wonder how different I might have been if those words had been spoken. Would I have carried less self-doubt? Would I have dared to chase more dreams without hesitation? Would I have believed in myself sooner? The questions linger like shadows, quiet but persistent, reminding me of all the things I was never told.

The hardest part is that the absence of words doesn’t feel immediate—it sneaks into life quietly. The lack of encouragement, the missing recognition, the unspoken love or pride—they accumulate slowly, until one day you realize how hollow certain experiences felt. And yet, even in that hollow space, there is room for growth, if you know where to look.

Because life doesn’t always give us what we need from others. Sometimes, the words we long to hear never arrive. Sometimes, we are left to write them ourselves. And that is exactly what I had to do.

In time, I learned to become my own voice of encouragement. I learned to celebrate quietly when I accomplished something. I learned to whisper to myself, “You’re enough,” even when no one else said it. At first, it felt unnatural, like trying to speak a language I hadn’t been taught. But little by little, those self-given words began to fill the silence. They were small affirmations at first—an acknowledgment of effort, a nod to persistence, a quiet pat on my own back. But over time, they grew louder, stronger, and more convincing.

Even now, there’s still an ache—a small emptiness where those missing words should have been. I sometimes catch myself imagining conversations that never happened, letters that were never written, or hugs that were never given. And yet, I don’t let it define me anymore. Instead, I try to give others the words I never got.

When a friend doubts themselves, I remind them of their strength. When a child beams with pride, I echo their joy. When someone hesitates to dream, I tell them to leap. Because I know, more than most, how powerful words can be. How the absence of them can echo for a lifetime. How a single phrase, spoken at the right moment, can alter the course of a life.

The words I needed but never got will always be a part of my story. But so will the resilience I built in their silence. So will the courage I found in learning to be my own voice. And now, I choose to speak the words—to others, and most importantly, to myself.

“You are worthy. You are enough. And you always were.”

I say them quietly in the morning, loudly when I succeed, and often when the world tries to tell me otherwise. Because at the end of the day, life may not always hand us the words we crave—but we can create them, pass them on, and ensure they reach someone who needs them.

Perhaps that is the truest form of healing: to speak aloud what was never spoken, to fill the silence with our own affirmation, and to plant in ourselves—and in others—the encouragement we once longed for. In giving what we never received, we discover the beauty in our own voice, and the courage to finally believe in ourselves.

Even if it came late, the words finally exist, and they carry a power far beyond anything anyone could have handed me.