Silent No More
Sometimes I write because I want to talk back to the patriarchy, the fundamentalists, the Vision Forum thought leaders who spoke into my life so much, with so much damage. Who put law above love. I want to be authentic with who I am and what I have experienced, speaking after so long of being unable to use my voice.
My opinions about gender have been criticized before because my experiences have “influenced” or “biased” me, but to those voices, I say that my experiences do not somehow discredit my beliefs, but provide them a backing. I know that misogyny is wrong because I have felt the deep sharp wounds of being kept back in my life in the name of “female submission.” I have seen women’s lives’ wrecked because of it. I know that putting strict cultural gender expectations on children is wrong because we are all unique, because neither I, nor my siblings (nor the children I grew up with), fit perfectly into those norms, because the rules of what a girl or a boy could become caused us frustration and dissatisfaction.
I’ve always been told to judge the tree by the fruit, and I’m not afraid to call patriarchy and misogyny what it is: rotten fruit.
So I write to speak out to the voices who want me silent.
But most of all I write for others like me, who have been through the same spiritual/emotional abuse or who have been through similar experiences. I write because I know not everyone in an abusive situation has the ability to speak up or voice their experiences. Because I know what that feels like, being alone with the secrets you aren’t allowed to speak of. I know what it feels like to think no one else would understand. And I know that ember of hope that ignites when you find someone who gets it with little explanation.
When I write, I think about all the girls who grew up internalizing spiritualized misogyny, who were taught their value would be rooted in their relationship with a man. I think about the girls told to be quiet and stay home. I think about the girls and boys who were raised to live in small boxes of gender norms. I think about the women who knew intuitively that there must be more than what was given them as their destiny, who wanted their families to be happy and so sacrificed themselves. I think about the queer kids who weren’t allowed to be themselves, who were abused in the name of “conversion therapy.” I think about the families who tried so hard only to never be enough. I think about so many who have been mistreated and ignored and silenced in our churches and beyond. I think about those who tried to find justification for the harm, joy in the pain, who suffered alone.
Somehow knowing we have been through similar trauma brings us together, gives a kind of community we never had before. We survived hard things. We’re still here. And I pray everything I write brings help or healing to those who read, because writing brings a kind of healing to me. You aren’t alone.