Chapter 1
I used to think being quiet made me kind.
That if I swallowed my emotions hard enough, they would disappear somewhere beneath the surface, dissolve into goodness. Maybe people would love me more if I never disagreed, never stood in the way, always smiled and said, βItβs fine.β
But every time I silenced my heart to make someone else comfortable, I carved a little more of myself away. Like handing out pieces of my soul hoping it would make others stay. Instead, I stayed quiet, agreeable, invisible.
And then there were those momentsβ¦ the ones where someone would say, βI just wanted to ask if youβre okay with this.β Or, βI hope you donβt mind, butβ¦β
The illusion of choice. The illusion of care.
Because when I finally worked up the courage to say βno,β to whisper even a hesitant βIβm not okay with that,β
they would do it anyway.
So what was the point?
Just a formality. A knife with a smile.
I wasnβt being asked. I was being informed.
And when it hurt, I felt guilty for even feeling that pain.
I told myself I was too sensitive. Too selfish. Too much.
I blamed myself for being hurt, for caring, for wanting to be seen.
And each time, I stuffed the ache deeper into the corners of my chest, hoping it would shrivel into nothing.
But it didnβt.
It grew heavy. It grew sharp.
Every unspoken word weighed me down.
Every βyesβ that shouldβve been a βnoβ echoed back as self-betrayal.
Still, I kept pleasing.
Because itβs easier to be hurt than to be the one who hurts.
Easier to disappear into their comfort than risk disrupting their peace.
And now, I sit here full of silence and shame.
Not because of what they did,
but because I let myself go unheard again.
But this time, I whispered something different:
βGod, only You see the pieces Iβve lost. Only You know how many times Iβve nodded through the breaking. Pleaseβ¦ put me back together.β
I donβt know when healing will come.
I donβt know when Iβll stop hating myself for being soft, for feeling too much.
But I do know this:
Even when they donβt hear me, He does.
Even when they ignore my boundaries, He cradles the aftermath.
I am tired of being the easy one.
But I will not stop being kind.
I will just start being kind to myself, too.
And maybeβ¦thatβs where healing begins.
