The word “silence” and its synonym “quiet” are all too familiar to us as we’ve heard these said many times and in various ways all throughout our lifetime. As kids, our parents would scream “Quiet!” if we become too rowdy while playing. In school, our teachers would command “Silence!” as they enter a noisy classroom. At work and even at home, we are sometimes told to be quiet as well.
Silence, as generally known, is the absence of sound. Officially, that is; because “silence” for me goes deeper and holds several different meanings apart from that.
At first, silence was hope. My emotional and mental health were both affected by disparaging remarks from people who I considered as family, in the same way that I was hurt by how their smiles quickly turned into smirks once I turned my back. I hoped and prayed that they would realize how much their words and actions hurt. But no matter how much time had passed and no matter how much I had hoped, when a habit is too deeply ingrained in a person’s mindset and practices, it is impossible to change it. In their everyday lives, they thought it usual and harmless to talk negatively about people, seemingly unaware that they have made others feel hurt and depressed, even unwanted and inadequate.
As time passed, the silence that was hope gradually changed to anger coupled with frustration. “Why?” I asked myself. “Why couldn’t they see that I’m hurting?” Sadly, although a person or two might have listened, they chose to do nothing because they wanted to protect their reputation and their family’s name at the expense of another’s pain.
Because it had been ingrained in me for so long to put family first, I still remained silent in order to protect my relationships. Instead of saying something in defense, I chose to keep my mouth shut even though the hurtful words said against me have already anchored themselves in my heart and mind so deeply that they were affecting my reality. Still, the status quo must be kept in order to save relationships since saying something would stir up trouble.
So I chose to stay silent even though some mistakenly believed that it was an admission of defeat or guilt. In some cases, it could be. In others, it might not. Thus, I have also come to understand that silence was also suffering. The pain inside was like a small wound that had been left to fester for years. It had grown and had become infected. It had spread malice and hate throughout my body until it could not be contained anymore. This meant that my silence needed to be broken. Perhaps it was akin to being a pressure cooker that needed to release steam; if it couldn’t, it would explode.
I instinctively knew that I had come to the point wherein silence was no longer an option.Once I began to displace my anger and frustrations on the people I love, I knew that I had to speak out. If I continue to choose to say nothing to those who’ve hurt me, I would also continue to hurt those who love me.
It was the hurt in my daughter’s eyes that made me decide to speak out. For far too long, the effects of my silence had made me short-tempered, which was not only directed at her but mostly at her father too. Even the smallest things at home could trigger me into getting too angry. My anger had become disproportionate and difficult to control. I’ve had conversations in my head where I said what I wanted to say. But it was different if you couldn’t say it out loud. It offered no relief; hence, the pressure continued to mount.
The funny thing was, once I began to speak out, their words lost the power to hurt me. Once I told my side of the story and painted their treatment of me, I felt relief. I no longer cared if they continued to talk about me behind my back because now I could tell the world what they truly were. I no longer felt hurt when they smiled their fake smiles or when they smirked at my name because I could already freely tell them and others how different their actions in private are compared to what they show the public.
After that, I chose to cut them off from my life. That was another type of silence - the one where you no longer speak to each other, which gave me freedom and relief. I let them know that I knew many of the things that they thought I didn’t know. I let them know that I was aware of what they said and what they did behind my back. This empowered me in many ways. For one, it freed me from caring about what they thought about me. Before, I walked on eggshells, too watchful and careful so that they would have no reason to say anything bad about me. But now, cutting them off made me find myself again. Instead of tiptoeing around, I now held my head high. If they still wished to disparage me, I no longer cared - because now they know that I know what they thought I didn’t not know.
Silence, truly, does mean so much - from hope to despair, from suffering to strength. It is a word with multitudinous facets that we could only understand as we go through our experiences in life.
