Recently, I shared something personal and painful in a WhatsApp group I belong to.
What I said came from the deepest part of my heart, rooted in my and my family’s lived history.
I chose every word with care.
I reread it a dozen times. It took me two hours to craft the message because I wanted to make sure that I spoke from a place of honesty, compassion, and respect for everyone in the group—without silencing or hiding my own experience.
I reminded myself: Say the thing. Don’t hold your breath waiting for how it lands.
And then I hit send.
And even though I tried to distract myself, like a moth to a flame, I went back to check the reactions.
Only one person gave it a thumbs up.
One person replied.
In a group of 46.
I was hurt. I felt rejected, sad, disappointed, ashamed.
I have a toolbox filled with self-help practices, but all I could do was cry.
I went through the coulda’s, shoulda’s, what-ifs from every angle.
I sat for a long time. And no matter how much I cried, overanalyzed, spiraled through self-doubt, or tried to mentally rewrite the message in hindsight…
I kept coming back to the same truth:
There was nothing I could have—or wanted to have—done differently.
Yes, I could have softened it.
Yes, I could have made it more palatable.
Yes, I could have stayed silent and saved myself the ache of being ignored.
But I’ve done that before. Too many times.
And every time I’ve swallowed my truth to make others more comfortable, it’s left me in pieces.
So no—silence wasn’t an option. Not this time.
Because the cost of not speaking would have been too high.
Because the weight of that truth deserved space.
Because staying quiet would have been a betrayal of myself, my family’s story, and everything I say I stand for.
And even if no one responded the way I hoped…
I still know: I did the right thing by speaking up.
Because our stories matter.
Especially the complicated ones.
I talked to a mentor who reminded me that silence doesn’t always mean indifference. She reminded me of the book The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. It’s a simple, powerful guide rooted in ancient Toltec wisdom—and all four agreements felt alive in this moment:
- Be impeccable with your word – I was. I chose every word with care. I spoke with compassion and clarity. I didn’t silence myself or attack anyone. I shared from the deepest part of my truth.
- Don’t take anything personally – This one is harder, but it’s helping me soften. The silence I received likely had nothing to do with me. Other people’s responses—or lack thereof—are reflections of their own stories, not my worth.
- Don’t make assumptions – I don’t know why people didn’t respond. Maybe they were overwhelmed. Maybe they didn’t know what to say. Maybe they didn’t even see it. I’m working to stay out of the spiral of stories I’ve made up in their absence.
- Always do your best – I did. Even with the tears. Even with the anger. Even with the tender ache of feeling unseen. I showed up, heart open. And that was enough.
Sometimes other people’s silence is shame, or fear, or their own discomfort.
Sometimes it’s people not knowing how to hold a truth they’ve never had to face, or a pain they’ve never had to experience.
And sometimes it’s people who have felt that pain and truth, but didn’t get their needs met in the moment—and haven’t yet processed their own trauma.
As you continue on this human journey, building your dreams and writing your story, remember: your voice matters.
Keep using it.
You are a one-time-only cosmic event. There has never been—and never will be—another you.
If you’ve ever felt invisible in a space you’ve shown up for with your whole heart, I see you.
If you’ve ever stayed silent because it felt safer than explaining, I understand.
And if you’ve ever spoken up anyway—thank you.
Someone is listening.
And you may be creating ripple effects you will never see or know about.
With love,
