Journal Entry: Breaking the Silence
I picked up my pen today because silence has poisoned me long enough. It’s been living in my throat like a ghost — haunting every word I never said, every truth I buried to keep the peace. For years, I thought silence was strength. That keeping things “in the family” was loyalty. But now I see it for what it is — a slow death of self. A quiet erosion of truth.
The silence didn’t just protect them; it protected the dysfunction. It built a wall between who I was and who I had to be to survive. Every time I swallowed my pain, it calcified — turning into resentment, anxiety, shame. I became fluent in pretending: pretending I wasn’t hurt, pretending I wasn’t angry, pretending I didn’t notice the manipulation wrapped in smiles.
But pretending is exhausting. It costs your soul.
So today, I write. Not to attack, not to expose — but to release. Writing feels like unclogging a vein that’s been blocked for decades. The truth rushes out messy, unfiltered, holy. It’s not about revenge; it’s about reclamation. About giving voice to the version of me that was silenced before she ever got the chance to speak.
I write for the child who thought love meant obedience.
I write for the teenager who choked on her truth just to avoid being called “disrespectful.”
I write for the woman I am now — the one who refuses to shrink for anyone’s comfort.
Because silence kept me invisible, but this journal makes me whole.
Every word I spill is a crack of light breaking through the walls they built around me.
And Spirit’s message is clear, gentle, and liberating:
Every word you release is another chain falling away.
I feel them drop now — one by one. The weight lessens. The air shifts.
My truth is not too loud. My healing is not betrayal.
It’s resurrection.
I’m not here to keep secrets anymore.
I’m here to tell the truth — even if my voice shakes while I do it.
Because freedom doesn’t come from silence.
It comes from the courage to finally speak.
✨ Reflective Questions
What truths have you been swallowing for the sake of peace?
How has silence shaped your sense of worth or safety?
What could you release today — in writing, art, or speech — that your soul has been holding for too long?
