Growing up, I had plenty of reasons to believe I was stupid.
That’s the thing about the mind – tell it a lie often enough, it starts to believe it’s the truth.
That’s not my line, by the way. It’s usually attributed to Nazi propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels.
My belief that I was stupid wasn’t random. It was gently fed to me by the people who raised me.
My parents never called me stupid, but they did call me “slow” – often.
At times they’d speak slower when addressing me compared to my siblings, because I’d often get confused and overwhelmed by more than three instructions – so much so that I’d end up doing nothing at all.
To be fair, that must have been frustrating. Maybe they felt they had to meet me halfway, to be more understanding. That their middle child wasn’t like the other two. That he was slower. Limited.
I won’t sit here and claim they were wrong. They were right: compared to my siblings, I was slower. I don’t know why. But I know how it felt to be reminded, again and again.
It was often my mom who would calm my dad down, saying, “Remember, he’s different. He’s not like the others.” And that’s how I carried myself.
Different. Slower.
That label followed me for years – through adolescence and school. Whenever I didn’t get good marks, I’d blame it on being slow. It became part of who I was. I’d think: My parents brought me into this world, they must know me better than I know myself.
But this perception didn’t just affect my self-image – it crushed my sense of agency. I stopped believing my actions could bring any real change.
And I think a lot of people never realise this about themselves: that their actions will always match how they see themselves.
I remember watching a 2005 Kanye West interview with Charlie Rose back in my student days. It stuck with me:
Charlie Rose: “Is there any limit to your ambition?”
Kanye West: “No.”
CR: “Or any limit to what you think you can achieve?”
KW: “No. Well… No. Because I think right now, if I was to quit rapping and I say I want to go to the NBA, I would be in the NBA.”
CR: “No you wouldn’t.”
KW: “Yes.”
CR: “No you wouldn’t.”
KW: “Yes I would.”
CR: “No you wouldn’t.”
KW: “Yes I would.”
CR: “Why would you think you could make it to the NBA?”
KW: “Cuz I think I can do anything…
I’m not Kanye West’s biggest fan, but I love that interview. That mindset. That refusal to accept limits.
It made me think: how can someone who believes they’re slow ever compete with someone who believes they can do anything?
That’s what frustrates me about people who pride themselves on being “brutally honest.” They don’t realise how many dreams they’re killing. Especially when the person they’re talking to already sees themselves as less-than. When the so-called “truth” they’re hearing from others just confirms the cruel inner voices they already live with.
Every day, people dig their own graves, burying dreams that were never born – simply because of how they view themselves.
They build their own cages deep in the Mariana Trench, hoping to be rescued by fishermen who’ll never come.
My own turning point came in varsity, a year before graduation, when I stumbled upon the work of psychologists Martin Seligman and Steven Maier on Learned Helplessness – a belief that you’re powerless to change your situation, even when you actually can.
It reminded me of something I’d seen too many times: some Black people telling themselves they’ll never make it because of apartheid, the system, or the government.
They’ve accepted defeat before even stepping into the ring. And now just watch life from the sidelines, bubbling with envy at how others seem to be making it despite the same challenges.
Seligman and Maier’s early experiments involved dogs being exposed to electric shocks they couldn’t escape. Later, even when escape was possible, many didn’t even try. They’d learned their actions were futile.
That shook me.
At the time, I still saw myself as “slow.” I thought: So if I believe this about myself, does that mean I’m stuck forever? That I’ll never switch from science to commerce because I won’t make the cut? That I’ll be stuck studying something I disliked and never even graduate?
I had to shift something. And I did.
I gave everything I had to pull up my marks. I met the average needed to transfer. I moved to the commerce faculty, studied what I actually enjoyed, got excellent grades – so good that I went on to complete my postgrad studies at the best university in Africa. I scored in the 90s and later found myself working in IT, in an industry I had zero academic background in, earning three times more than the average science entry-level salary.
I’m not saying all this to boast. I’m saying it because I realised something:
So much of what we achieve has to do with the stories we tell ourselves.
Maybe our potential goes beyond genetics. Maybe it lies in what we believe about ourselves.
That’s when the metaphor hit me: most of us are trapped in rooms with open windows.
The windows are there. You can escape.
But after more than twenty years of being told who you are – directly or indirectly – it’s hard to rewire your brain.
Still, I believe everyone has flashes of genius. Everyone has that “switch.” And sometimes all it takes is the courage to flip it, to shock yourself, to do something that surprises even you.
I’m certain there are millions of dreams buried by false beliefs.
Relationships never pursued. Friendships never formed. Companies never started. Books never published. Millions never made. All lost – not because of lack of talent, but because someone decided it’s not for people like me.
So why not be kind to that person?
Why not get out of your own way?
Why not try – even if you’re scared, even if your voice shakes?
I’ve lived in a township. I’ve seen how young people think there’s no way out. They don’t believe escape is possible.
And here’s the painful part: they’re right. Not because they can’t get out, but because they believe they can’t.
The Bible verse in Proverbs 23:7 puts it simply: “As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.”
There’s no shortage of evidence: from science, religion, psychology – that your beliefs shape your life.
Yet most of us still let others define what we should believe about ourselves.
I’m writing this from a villa in a fancy Cape Town suburb I booked for a week. And I keep thinking: what are the odds that a kid from here would lose at life to a kid raised in trauma, afraid of dying every day?
And yet… it happens.
Because the kid who’s struggling doesn’t know that the door to his trap was never locked.
That he built it himself. That he held the key all along.
That breaks my heart.
Not because I think I’m a hero for “making it out.”
But because I wonder: what if I’d never questioned the label? What if I always believed I was slow?
I probably wouldn’t have graduated. Wouldn’t have switched faculties. Wouldn’t be working in IT. Wouldn’t be writing this from a villa.
My hope is that young people realise this:
There was never a trap.
The trap was the mind.
And just like my identity changed because of what I was told, it can change again… this time, for good.
© Phumzile