Unmuted – Episode 3: Kindness, Quiet Lives, and the People Who Showed Up
🎧 Listen to the Podcast Episode
Before you read further, you may want to listen to Episode 1 of Unmuted — a spoken version of this story, shared in my own voice.
🎙️ Listen on Spotify:
This post expands on the reflections shared in the episode and offers space to pause, read, and return whenever you need quiet company.
Strumming my pain with his fingers…
Singing my life with his words…
Killing me softly with his song…
Killing me softly with his song…
Telling my whole life with his wordsKilling me softly with his song
During one of the most fragile phases of my self-healing journey —
when sadness and anxiety felt relentless —
I created a sacred rule for myself:
Feed the mind only what uplifts it.
Only happy songs.
Gentle stories.
Hopeful endings.
And yet… this song I shared above slips through that filter.
Not because it’s cheerful — it obviously isn’t —
but because I associate it with one of the most unexpectedly joyful films I’ve ever watched.
A film that made me smile, laugh,
and strangely… feel seen.
A film where this song plays at the very end.
And it reminded me of something I had forgotten:
Kindness can save a child.
And sometimes… kindness saves an adult too.
This post is about kindness.
Today we’re stepping into a story that blends cinema, childhood struggles, healing, and kindness — all through one surprisingly profound movie: About a Boy.
I didn’t watch About a Boy when it released in 2002.
I discovered it years later — on one of those days when loneliness felt loud,
and — following my sacred rule - I just wanted something light and comforting.
Yes… Hugh Grant’s charm probably helped me press play.
But what I received was so much more than entertainment.
It was warmth.
Humour.
Humanity.
And unexpectedly… healing.
It also reminded me how humans can be both ridiculous and wise… sometimes at the same time.
Before I go further — a gentle spoiler alert if you haven’t watched the film.
This film isn’t about a perfect hero saving a child.
It’s about flawed, awkward, very human people —
who slowly form an odd, unintentional little family —
through humour, discomfort, and small acts of care.
At the heart of it is Marcus —
a 12-year-old boy who is lonely, bullied, misunderstood,
and living with a loving but depressed mother.
Watching Marcus was painful.
Because it reminded me of something we often forget:
Children have mental health.
Children have anxiety.
Children suffer quietly.
And often — the quietest child
is the one struggling the most.
In Episode 1 of Unmuted, I spoke about how we all have mental health.
But what about children’s mental health?
What about their silent struggles we never see?
I started seeing MY YOUNGER SELF
As a child, I was mostly silent.
I blended into walls.
Peers misunderstood me.
Teachers overlooked me.
My silence was read as arrogance… or disinterest… or emptiness.
But inside, I was full.
Full of thoughts.
Full of emotions.
Full of things I wanted to say —
but couldn’t.
As I shared in Episode 2, my silence wasn’t a choice.
It was fear.
It was anxiety.
It was my nervous system freezing.
Research has shown that for every thousand children, up to nineteen may suffer from Selective mutism.
And Selective Mutism is just one problem a child can suffer with, there are so many others learning, cognitive or social difficulties that can bother an absolutely normal child.
Watching Marcus shrink under bullying,
watching him fight battles no one seemed to notice —
felt like watching my younger self on screen.
And that’s why this film stayed with me.
THE QUESTION THE MOVIE LEFT ME WITH
Sometimes, such acts arrive quietly.
Through:
-
Someone noticing
-
Someone showing up
-
Someone staying
Marcus didn’t need a superhero.
He needed someone to show up.
And he found Will.
And Will wasn’t perfect.
He was a selfish man running away from responsibilities.
Emotionally immature.
Disconnected.
But he shows up anyway.
And he noticed him, protected him, uplifted him.
And that changed everything.
When the credits rolled, I found myself wondering:
Does every struggling child get a Will?
Did I?
For years, I believed I had walked alone. And eventually faced mental crisis.
But as I reflected more, something shifted.
I viewed my life through an outsider's lens,
and I realised I wasn’t alone at all.
----------------
*First day of secondary school, I sat huddled in a corner, paralyzed by nerves. Then, a girl I didn’t know—who already seemed to have found a group—left her new friends just to talk to me. She showered me with questions, patiently drawing me out until I finally found my own voice.
Then there was the wedding, where my siblings kept me glued to their side, knowing exactly how miserable I would feel if left to navigate the crowd alone.
And finally, that boy, who refused to be deterred by my silence; he was certain I had much more to say than I was allowing myself to speak.
There were countless other moments like these—some lost to time, others barely noticed—that eventually pointed to one quiet truth: I had my own "Wills." watching over me. They weren't the dramatic, cinematic silver-screen heroes, with the grand flair of a Hollywood movie; but they were mine, simpler, more real, and exactly what I needed.
Siblings who understood my silence.
Friends who waited patiently.
Neighbours who smiled without asking questions.
Teachers who saw potential instead of absence.
Strangers who offered kindness without knowing my story.
I had been so focused on the pain
that I missed all the scaffolding holding me up.
And finally, I understood:
Selective mutism didn’t destroy me.
Being quiet didn’t erase me.
Because there has always been just enough Kindness that carried me.
That is the fundamental truth of our world: circumstances may be harsh, difficult, or even seemingly impossible, but there is always just enough kindness—found in small, ordinary, human ways—to make any good possible.
The profound lessons I’ve gathered—from the movie, from my own journey, and from the unsung heroes who carried me—have led me to a single, clear purpose —To honor the kindness I was shown by paying it forward. My first thoughts turn toward children; after all, they are like flower buds, full of hidden potential and waiting for the right moment.
They bloom when nurtured.
They wither when ignored.
Will had a sense of urgency to support Marcus who had a difficult background and was miserable in a ruthless environment. Marcus bloomed when he believed in him.
And I bloomed when I finally believed in myself — and remembered everyone who once believed in me.
Supporting someone — child or adult —
doesn’t require expertise.
Just gentleness.
A soft voice.
A little patience.
A kind word.
A warm smile.
A moment of noticing.
And suddenly, their world changes shape.
Even for adults, a small kindness - - a compliment here or a smile there - can shift the weight of an entire day.
This brings me to the question the film’s title asks:
--------------------------
Who is “the boy” in About a Boy?
Marcus is the child.
But I believe the title also refers to Will —
— the man who hadn’t grown up emotionally.
Marcus leads him toward connection.
Toward compassion, meaning.... happiness.
Sometimes children guide adults.
Sometimes the child inside us guides us.
Like the quiet little girl inside me —
still introspective, still soft —
but wise enough to lead me toward healing.
That brings me to a poem by William Wordsworth, which beautifully captures this idea:
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
If you’ve lived quietly because of anxiety, fear, or silence that wasn’t chosen —
you are not broken.
And if you’ve ever offered kindness to someone who couldn’t ask for help —
you mattered more than you know.
So I’ll leave you with three questions:
Who were the Wills in your life?
Who noticed you quietly?
And can you be a Will to someone today — a struggling child or an adult —
to someone who whispers instead of speaks?
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