Member-only story
LOUDMOUTH
Embracing my superpowers…
I was constantly reminded that I talked too much…
Years ago, I was in London visiting a close friend. Her brother was going through a difficult time, quietly struggling with his mental health. And while everyone tiptoed around him, I did what I’ve always done: I talked. I asked him questions, shared small stories, tried to make him laugh. Not to fill the silence, but to help him feel seen — safe — human again.
At one point, my friend’s sister asked in front of everyone, “Abeer… don’t you ever get tired of talking so much?”
I remember pausing, a little embarrassed, wondering for a second if I should be tired of it.
But later, her brother told me something that changed everything: He said he felt comfortable with me — because I talked to him like he wasn’t broken, like he wasn’t a burden, like he still belonged in the room.
Growing up, I loved to talk.
Talking was my way of getting to know people, breaking down walls, and making sense of the world around me. I didn’t have fancy tools for understanding people — I had my voice. I used it to ask questions, to make connections, to bring people in. But when you’re a child who…
