"I have often regretted my speech, never my
silence." - Xenocrates (396-314 B.C.)
Most people regret opening their mouths. They have stories
of times they have said the wrong thing, and wished they could take it back. I
have the opposite. I regret my silence.
I regret my silence when I was 10 years old, always afraid
to share my interests and thoughts for fear of being rejected. I morphed myself
into what I thought everyone else wanted me to be rather than expressing my own
uniqueness.
I regret my silence that day I was singing loud in choir and
the girl in front of me told me I was a show off. I didn’t speak up then and
from that day forward I stopped having fun in choir – which had been my
favorite class. The doubts were too strong for me to overcome.
I regret my silence the day in 8th grade when the
boy in my algebra class asked me if I liked Gary. I was so sure he was making
fun of me that I lied and said of course not. I missed the opportunity to boost
my self-esteem by letting a boy like me.
I regret my silence when other kids were being picked on or
teased. I watched silently, too afraid of turning the heat on myself to stand
up for them. I wanted so desperately to be accepted and liked that I let
behavior slide that I shouldn’t have.
I curled into an imaginary little ball, just like the child
who puts their hands over their eyes thinking others can’t see them. I decided
being invisible was more important than being a target.
I sat by and watched my friends try out for softball and
student council and the musical because any of these things would have caused
me to be seen. And being seen was scary. Better to stay quiet…and so the
opportunities were missed.
This silencing of myself caused deep wounds that followed me
into adulthood. I continued to think it was okay to stay silent in the pursuit
of being what I thought others wanted me to be. This translated into allowing a
husband to verbally abuse me, not only in private but in public settings. I
didn’t think I deserved better. I thought staying silent was my only option.
This also translated into every other realm of my life. I
had manipulative bosses that I allowed to walk on me – staying silent when they
took the credit or passed the blame. I allowed friends to treat me poorly,
thinking it was easier to stay silent when they stood me up for the fourteenth
time, didn’t call me back or didn’t ask me how I was doing in the midst of
pain. I didn’t think my feelings were important enough to share…and I shut down
and shut them out and got even quieter.
I saw a movie recently in which the main character asked why
people allowed others to hurt them over and over without doing something. “We
accept the love we think we deserve.” was the profound answer.
How true is that statement? I spent my life keeping quiet
because I felt that my opinion or thoughts or feelings were not worth voicing.
I kept the peace, for sure, but I didn’t keep myself from being hurt – which had
been my goal all along. I built a wall
of silence around myself. A wall that was difficult to demolish once it was
firmly anchored.
Luckily, somewhere in the journey I discovered my voice
through writing. The blank page called to me and allowed me to put a voice to
my feelings and thoughts that I had never allowed to see the light of day. I
could hide in safety of the page while still allowing my thoughts to be heard.
And others read the words and were moved and touched…and pieces of me began to
heal.
I have decided that I am done being silent. Words have
healed me and allowed me to learn to shout and laugh and sing and most
importantly…they have allowed me to be seen.
