The Girl Who Swallowed Her Voice
I had always been a quiet girl. Or maybe the better word was timid. Not soft. Not gentle. Not reserved by choice. Timid. I was afraid to be fully myself—especially around people. Afraid to express how I truly felt. Afraid to speak up when I was offended. Afraid to say, “That hurt me.” Afraid to say, “I disagree.” Instead, I would retreat inward. When something upset me, I wouldn’t confront it. I would analyze it — overanalyze it — in my head. I would replay conversations. Reconstruct tone. Debate both sides. Become the prosecutor, the defender, and the judge. And after all that silent courtroom drama, I would do either of the following: Wear a smile. Or wear a frown. Depending on the verdict I had reached in my mind. But here’s the truth: Nothing was ever actually resolved. The other person never knew. The issue was never addressed. The boundary was never drawn. And slowly, something dangerous began to happen. I began to shrink. Because every time you silence yourself, you teach ...
