Without a Voice

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Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

I have wanted to write about this subject for awhile now, but when I sit down to write, I don’t know how to say it. It hit me that this is exactly like the topic. I want to speak yet I don’t know how. Should I explain?

A very old quote that we have believed is, ‘children should be seen and not heard’. I understand why we recite it because children out of control are terrors, but I don’t believe or agree with it. You are more than welcome to disagree with me. But you should also know that I have experience backing my belief..

I was the child without a voice.

Writing that down actually helped validate the fact in my mind. Sometimes I wonder if it was all just created by my vivid imagination.

Here are some of the memories.

I don’t remember ever telling my parents that my church friends kept leaving me for other friends. If I did tell them (and I don’t remember), I never felt like they understood.

I didn’t share with them very many of my interests and passions. I was afraid they wouldn’t listen or approve.

I definitely never told them about my struggle with crushing on boys.

It took me a very long time to tell my mom that I wanted to quit taking piano lessons.

Would they have listened? Probably. Would they have understood? Occasionally.

But it was hard to ever actually tell them. There was a wall between them and I. I didn’t want to be embarrassed. I didn’t know how to be vulnerable. I was afraid.

I felt like a child without a voice.

I wanted to be validated and not ashamed.

I wanted to be told I was brave.

I wanted to feel secure in my parents’ approval.

Why couldn’t I tell them that?

I think the first reason was that I was only a child and I didn’t understand what was happening. That was the way I thought everyone lived. The other reason is, I didn’t know how to voice my heart.

The few times I convinced myself to tell them something personal, I would write it on a note and leave it for them. One time after I blew up in a letter, Mom was kind and understanding. I felt guilty for laying everything open like I did. I felt stupid for being vulnerable.

I don’t know who taught me that I didn’t have a voice. Was it my parents or was it just something I learned as a survival tool?

What about you? Can you relate to what I’m saying?

Just in case you were wondering, my parents are very good people. Maybe your parents are good too. What is the truth about your childhood? Don’t try to lie to yourself. The truth will catch you eventually.

The truth about my childhood?

My parents did not pursue me. They didn’t know how to teach me to use my voice.

I tried to create my own voice.

That still hurts me today.

What is your story?

Where is your voice?

~Hope

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