“Your silence will not protect you.” ~Oudre Lorde
When I was little, I learned that “good” means being quiet.
Not just my voice, but also my needs. My feelings. Even in the spaces I featured.
I don’t remember anyone who sat me down and said, “If you don’t speak, don’t speak.” But I felt it – the awful when I was too big, the tension when I cried, the subtle admiration when I was calm, comfortable, and small. When I didn’t do anything big, I felt it in the way the adults sighed in peace. I felt it in the way I stopped asking what I wanted.
For me, goodness has meant not rocking the boat.
I remember once being told, “You’re a very nice girl. You never complain.” And I carried it like a medal. Instead of talking at dinner, I remember crying in my room. Even when my breasts hurt when words are not being said, they say, “I’m fine.” I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I wanted to be easier to love.
So I smiled with discomfort. I nodded when I wanted to say no. When I said the truth, I bit my tongue. I was enjoyable, adaptable and well received.
And he was completely cut off from him.
Keep your body quiet
For a long time I thought this was just a personality trait. I told myself I was easy. Sensitive. Peace maker.
But the truth is, I internalized the nervous system survival strategy: fawns. A subtle, often invisible adaptation where safety is required by mitigating, rather than flying or fighting. Become someone you want to be someone else. Say what they want to hear.
In my body, this looked like this:
When you hold your breath at a tense conversation, swallow words that pop into your throat, feel anxious, when you feel exhausted after social interaction, why
It wasn’t just social unrest or embarrassment. It was a deeply ingrained survival pattern. It shaped everything from how I moved the world to how I relate to others.
I still didn’t have a language about what was going on. But I could feel the cost.
The silence I carried started to hurt physically, not just emotionally.
My chin was clenched. My shoulders have been rounded forward. My chest felt like a locked room. I have a fog of conversation, the relationship is far away, I don’t know where I started and ended.
When you chronically silence yourself and stay safe, your body will begin to whisper something your voice can’t say.
The first time I said “No”
It wasn’t a dramatic moment. There were no screams or attacks.
It was a quiet dinner with someone I didn’t feel completely safe. They wanted something that crossed the line. And for the first time in my adult life, instead of automatically saying yes, I paused.
I heard that old scripts started to run: It’s fine. Don’t upset them. Just say yes, it’s easy.
But there’s something stable within me, a clever and quiet part.
I took a breath. I said, “No, I’m not okay with that.”
And despite my body trembling, I didn’t collapse. Nothing devastating happened. I went home and cried – not out of fear, but from relief.
It was one of the first moments when I realized I could choose myself. Even if you feel it’s unnatural. Even if you didn’t know what would happen next.
That moment changed something in me. Not overnight. But it planted seeds.
Reclaim my voice and breath one at a time
Reclaiming my voice was not a huge, bold revolution. It slowly unfolded.
Appearance:
Whether silence feels uncomfortable or when it takes a few seconds to react, or if it makes me speak to my emotions and filter everything out of everything to organize everything “rational” but rather than filtering it out after my voice is ejected, I would like to journal what I want to say.
One day, I’m still quiet. I still have the old fear that speaking the truth can cause rupture, rejection, or harm. Sometimes I still rehearse what I want to say five times before saying it once.
But every time I listened to myself, I learned that even if I put my hands on my heart, it creates safety from within.
And slowly my body began to change. I was a little taller. My breath has eased a little. I started to feel more here. Not only did I feel like I needed to do that, I started to feel like I was.
What started me
Sometimes the first thing that rises is not courage, but sadness. Grief for every moment we didn’t talk about, for our own version of ourselves that holds it all inside. I had to learn to meet my grief gently, not as a failure, but as evidence of how safe I was.
This journey didn’t start with confidence. It started with compassion.
I realized at a time when I silenced myself with curiosity rather than shame.
Ask: If I spoke, did I fear what would happen? What had happened before?
He placed his hand on my chest and said gently, “It’s not bad for you to be quiet. You were trying to stay safe.”
And when you feel ready, try out a small expansion.
Instead of texting someone, instead of rushing to the answer “I actually don’t agree,” I leave a voice note to my friend instead of rushing to the answer that I would normally nod in line.
None of these were major leaps. But each of them taught my nervous system a new truth. It’s safe to have a voice.
If you were quiet too
If you read this and recognize your own silence, I want you to know:
It’s not bad to be quiet. You were wise. Your nervous system was doing its best to keep you safe.
And if you’re beginning to feel a tug of war, you can trust it too, to take a little more space and say “No”, “I don’t know”, “I need a moment”.
You don’t have to be loud or strong. Regaining your voice doesn’t mean overwhelming others. It means including yourself. Honor your truth. Exhale into your body.
You are allowed to listen. Pause is permitted. You are allowed to deploy one breath at a time.
Your voice is not a threat. It’s a bridge – back to yourself. Your silence once kept you safe. But now, your truth may set you free.
About Maya Fleischer
Maya Fleischer is a consciously unfolding somatic guide and creator, a calm space for healing emotional patterns and reconnecting with body wisdom. She shares slow, heart-based practices for nervous system healing, softness and self-confidence. Her free 5-day audio journey is a delicate, self-censored, gentle practice series at subscribepage.io/audio-journey.
