Keeping their peace has taken mine

And I think I'm done with that.

Growing up with a bully will teach you one thing very quickly: to bite your tongue. Disapproval, guilt-tripping, blaming and shaming happen so frequently that you will do anything in your power to avoid confrontation whenever possible. And if that means to not take the bait, to swallow your retort and go along to get along, you do it.
It’s hard, and it will make you feel like you’re going to choke, but you think that’s a price worth paying for the apparent peace your silence achieves in the moment.

But is it really peace?

Is it peace when you carry that anger around with you, knowing it will come out eventually, and probably aimed at someone who doesn’t deserve it?

Is it peace when your mind is churning and you still think about the interaction days, weeks, or even years later, brooding over what you should have said?

Is it peace when you feel sick to your stomach from the suppressed rage, when your immune system suffers from the constant flood of adrenaline that happens every time your bully says something that activates your fight-or-flight-instinct, when your heart rate is constantly as high as if you were running a marathon, and your nerves are shot?

Is it peace when you can’t stop talking about your bully, when your friends and family are getting tired of spending time with you, because all you do is complain about that one person in your life?

Is it peace when you spend more time with that person that torments you than almost anyone else, because you think and talk of them so frequently?

Is it peace when years go by, then decades, and you’re supposed to be getting wiser, and in many ways you are, except for that one area in your life where you still feel and behave like a child? Where you stick your tongue out after their retreating back or give them the finger when they’re safely out of sight?

No, it’s not. All you do is make it nice and comfortable for the bully. You’re their dumping ground, the receptacle for their ever-changing moods and grievances. You’re a safe space for them, because they can unload on you with impunity, safe in the knowledge that you won’t say anything back to them.
They feel better after an interaction with you, while you feel worse.

Bite your tongue often enough and you’re in danger of biting it off—and without your tongue, you have no voice.

I lost my voice.

I tried so hard to make sense of the senseless, to shape the confusing truth into something more palatable, that at some point I didn’t know what was truth and what was fantasy. I was told to tell one story, then I told myself a different story to try to live with it, and eventually, truth and deception became so convoluted that I couldn’t keep them straight anymore.

Life keeps happening so you shove it down, tell yourself it’s not that bad, and before you know it you’re middle-aged, drowning in a pile of unhealthy coping mechanisms. Unpicking it all sends you in a years-long tailspin of reliving, unlearning, exchanging unhealthy for healthy coping strategies, and getting triggered by expected and unexpected events and people.

Let me tell you: the healing journey is not for the faint of heart. It hurts like hell at times, it makes you scream and cry, and it causes you so much grief: grief for the years of gaslighting, grief for what you never had, and grief for what you have to change and lose in order to find peace.
But it’s also brought true friendship, a deepening of existing relationships, a newfound respect for myself, and the most astonishing gift of all: befriending my own mind. Hanging out with myself is a true joy these days—something I never thought possible.

Finding true peace has been my number one priority over the last few years. I was often scared and anxious as a kid, I’ve feared my own mind for most of my life, and it’s only since I started digging deep, unearthed a ton of unprocessed baggage that’s accumulated over a lifetime, and systematically started going through it piece by piece, that I’m moving into the light.

And what I’m discovering is this:
I’m no longer willing to hold my tongue to make the bullies of this world more comfortable.
To be honest, it’s not the most welcome discovery. Life would be much easier if I would be able to let the bullies do their thing, stay out of it, and shake it off at the end of the day.
Turns out, I’m not made that way. And in my quest to honour my true, authentic self, I must do what is right for me.

So that’s where I’m at now: testing out my newfound resolve. I stood up for myself a little while ago for what was honestly one of the first times of my life, and while my heart was racing, my palms sweating, and my face felt hot, I didn’t bite my tongue and smiled through it—I said what was on my mind. In a nice and respectful manner, but with an honesty that startled the other person. And you know what? It felt amazing. I’ve got to admit, I’m pretty proud of myself.
It also made my 22-year old niece proud, who’s my role model when it comes to speaking one’s mind, and that’s cool, too! I want to be like her when I grow up.

I already know I will stumble often, because I have a lifetime of conditioning and old behaviour patterns to unlearn. But stumbling is okay—stumbling is part of life.

It’s a season of learning, growing, and rebirth—and while it’s exhausting as hell, it’s also the most amazing, empowering journey I’ve ever been on. Here’s to staying curious, open, and ready to receive all the lessons and gifts life has in store for us.

Much love to anyone else who’s in a challenging, rewarding, draining, overwhelming season! We got this 🌱