Every time I write, I shudder.
I’ve grappled daily with how much to say—how much to protect the people I love.
And lately, I’ve been sitting with a harder question:
By holding back, who am I really protecting? Others or myself?
Today, I wrote about the first time I left my body. I was ten.
What I didn’t say was why leaving was easier than staying. Because if I had stayed, I would have had to admit that the people who loved me asked me to swallow my truth. And acknowledging it would have required them to confront their own.
Part of me understands that.
The other part is still grieving.
I’m learning to hold compassion for both.
When I think about the versions of myself I’ve been, the secrets I’ve kept, the silence I mistook for protection, I keep arriving at the same place:
The parts of me people call “too much” or “too loud” are the very pieces of me I’ve been searching for. I thought I was seeking a partner, but what I was truly after was myself, the parts I swallowed.
Silence is a burden we carry until we have the courage to speak.
Even when it makes us shake.
tashabovain.com 