“From 0 to Vocal: How I Found My Voice Again”

I joined Vocal not knowing what I was really getting into. It all started with simple curiosity. I didn’t even know if I had something to say. I wasn’t looking to become a writer or build a following—I just wanted to read stories that felt like healing. That’s all I was searching for. But life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.

One day, I stumbled on a few personal essays from Vocal creators and thought to myself, “Wait a minute… these people are telling their stories, just like that? Raw? Real?” That moment stayed with me. It echoed in my head for hours until I opened a blank page and began typing. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. That first piece—I can still remember the feeling—I was nervous but also so proud. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was showing up for myself.

Publishing it was such a big deal. I wasn’t just putting words on a screen; I was letting parts of me be seen. Parts I hadn’t fully faced. And when I got my first like… friend, I tell you, I was shaking. Someone read my story. Someone reached the end. That “like” felt like someone whispering back, “I hear you.”

That moment shifted something inside me.

From there, writing became a release. A quiet space to return to. Not for the sake of perfection or performance, but just to be. Just to pour and breathe. Every time I write, I feel like I’m calling Asanda back—piece by piece. It’s like she’s been waiting behind the curtain, nodding, saying, “There you are.”

I don’t see milestones in the way others might. I’m not counting views or trying to go viral. For me, the real milestone is this—I didn’t walk away from myself. That’s big. Every time I write something, I’m choosing to stay close to me, to the Asanda that life tried to mute through the years. That’s the milestone I honour.

Now, something has shifted again. I don’t just want to write, I need to. Ideas come to me in the smallest moments—when I see an image, hear a line, or even feel something deeply for a second. I know now that these sparks are not random. They’re messages. They’re creative nudges saying, “Let’s go again.”

I’m feeling more alive creatively than I’ve felt in years. Not because everything is perfect, but because I gave myself the permission to begin. To try. And most importantly, to share—without shame, without waiting for the “perfect” version.

My dream now? I want to keep telling stories that sound like me. Especially the ones rooted in self-discovery and healing. I want to be part of a space where voices rise gently and powerfully, reminding others that they’re not alone. I’m inspired daily by writers who bare their souls on the page. It’s like every story gives me permission to go a little deeper.

There’s something sacred about writing with no pressure. Something magical about simply sitting with your thoughts and letting the words unfold. I’ve realized that I don’t write for recognition—I write for remembrance. To remember who I am. To remember the girl who once had a pen with green ink and big dreams she had no language for.

So, from 0 to Vocal—this is me. Still learning. Still opening. Still falling in love with writing… all over again.

And if someone like me is reading this now, wondering if their story matters, if their words are “good enough”...

Friend, start.

You don’t need to know where it’s going.

You just need to let yourself speak.

The rest will unfold.