About eight years ago, I decided to learn Greek. I thought it would be easy. I was married to a Greek, I heard the language every day, and I was taking lessons. It seemed logical that I would pick it up naturally.

But progress was frustratingly slow. I could read and understand words, yet I could not hold a proper conversation. I realised later that I was treating Greek like a private project, practising quietly, rehearsing phrases in my head, waiting until I felt confident enough to speak.

Then, about five years ago, I moved with my family to Greece. I was surrounded by Greeks every day, at home, in the neighbourhood, in shops and cafés, and I thought that living there would finally make the language click. But even then, for the first couple of years, my progress stayed frustratingly slow. I still avoided speaking whenever I could. I listened, I nodded, I understood bits and pieces, but I was not putting myself into real conversations.

It was not until later, after the COVID restrictions came down, when I started meeting people, some of whom preferred to speak to me in Greek and encouraged me to do the same, that things began to change. They did not switch into English, and that was a gift. I was thrown into the deep end, and I had to swim.

I made endless mistakes. My grammar collapsed mid-sentence. I misunderstood jokes. I had built it up too much in my own head, overcomplicating things and worrying about getting everything right. That overthinking stopped me from practising, and as a result, it stopped me from improving.

But once I finally started speaking, I realised that people did not care about my mistakes. They encouraged me, filled in the blanks, laughed with me, not at me. And seeing that made all the difference. It gave me the freedom to keep speaking, to keep trying. Within a few months, my fluency jumped further than it had in years of quiet study.

That experience taught me a simple truth: we do not learn by hiding; we learn by engaging.