The Quiet Room:
In my memory, the quiet room isn’t silent. It thrums with heartbeats and held breaths. For years, I believed that silence and privacy, much like old friends, stood hand in hand. But the day came, and with it, clarity whispered that they were, in truth, two different names for different spaces.
The Discovery Within:
Silence, a reflex, grows from fear—like a caught breath you’re afraid to release, lest you shape the air with words that invite judgment or misunderstanding. Privacy, in contrast, is a conscious choice. It isn’t a wall; it’s a sanctuary. A decision to cradle certain parts of ourselves with the tenderness they deserve, away from prying eyes and presumptuous hands.
My Disappearing Act:
In my journey, I found myself tangled in silence, mistaking withdrawal for strength. I looked at the closed doors in my heart and called them boundaries I was proud of. Only now, I see: I wasn’t drawing boundaries, I was disappearing. This revelation visited me while writing Mouthy. It taught me to craft my story with intention—to be honest yet preserve my private heart.
The Sacred Middle Ground:
In a world hooked on extremes—on or off, exposed or concealed—there’s a middle ground. A sacred space where privacy honors parts of us that are fragile and changing. It asks us to own our voice and decide when, where, and to whom it speaks.
Wisdom of Discernment:
Learning the language of discernment is the labor of life. It’s the wisdom of distinguishing when to share and when to keep close. It’s understanding that your thoughts, dreams, and the chaos of healing aren’t commodities. Through this practice, the fear-fueled veil of silence lifts, and your voice—the melody of your being—finds its rightful strength in privacy.
Your Rightful Choice:
You bear no obligation to lay your inner world for public scrutiny. Yet, don’t let fear ghost you into nonexistence. To breathe, to belong, let your silence be your decision, not your gravestone.