My First Blog: Why Women Need to Step Up and Take the Lead

 Not Everything We Think Belongs Online

I have always been audacious. Especially when it comes to interrogating long-held ideas that no longer resonate with my evolving consciousness. Recently, that audacity spilled onto Facebook, an eruption of thoughts about God, religion, and the contradictions that have long disturbed me. I called Him a deadbeat, questioned the plausibility of the story of Noah, and challenged the logic behind a deity who simultaneously claims to love us and demands that we fear Him.

In that moment, I was not trying to be incendiary. I was simply being honest.

What followed the backlash I had expected (well, I did receive some of it) was something far more sobering. One of my lecturers, a man I deeply respect, whose intellect and integrity I admire, pulled me aside. With remarkable calm, he offered what I now view as a necessary intervention. He spoke not to silence me, but to remind me: the internet is a permanent archive. And as much as it holds space for truth, it also holds receipts.

He reminded me that digital spaces are not neutral. Algorithms thrive on provocation. Posts become screenshots. Screenshots become whispers. And before you know it, one post can define an entire person’s narrative, especially when you are a young leader, an aspiring diplomat, or a woman who dares to think out loud.

I listened, not out of submission, but out of reverence (the only time we listen to anyone is if they are in our circle of influence). Reverence for someone who has walked the path before me, who understands the weight of public engagement and the cost of misunderstood expression. This experience did not make me retract my beliefs. It made me refine them. It taught me that being radical does not require recklessness. That conviction, when paired with tact, travels further and leaves less collateral damage. That not everything I feel deeply needs to be articulated in real time, in public, under the gaze of strangers who do not know the nuance behind my thoughts.

I still question religion. I still believe in the necessity of interrogating beliefs we were conditioned to accept without thought. But I have come to understand that influence requires a measure of restraint. Visibility is not without consequence. And online platforms, while powerful, come with the responsibility to communicate with intention, especially when one is curating a legacy that extends beyond fleeting digital moments.

This experience was not about suppressing my truth. It was a lesson in timing and delivery. It taught me that conviction should not always be impulsive, that silence in certain moments is not cowardice but strategy, and that the weight of our words must be balanced with the awareness of who is watching and why.

I still believe in questioning sacred norms. I still reject doctrines that insult human intelligence. But I also believe in growing sharper, not louder. I believe in evolving into a voice that disrupts, not destroys. A voice that challenges but also builds. Because if we are to spark change, we must learn how to wield our fire without burning the very bridges we hope to cross (Oh, I love writing). 

This experience did not dilute my convictions; it deepened my understanding of how and when to express them. It reminded me that freedom of thought is not just about what we say, but how we choose to say it, and in what spaces. The internet is not a vacuum. It is a mirror, a magnifier, and sometimes a weapon.

I am not sorry for thinking freely. I am not sorry for asking uncomfortable questions. But I am learning that if I am to be taken seriously, not just as a thinker, but as a leader, I must learn the art of impact without self-sabotage. There is no shame in being called to order when it is done by those who want to see you rise.

My voice is still mine. My stance remains firm. But now, I carry both with more precision.

Because growth is not about being quieter. It is about becoming more deliberate. And that is exactly who I am becoming.