The Things I Never Said Out Loud — Until Now

I don’t remember the first time I stayed quiet when I wanted to speak. Maybe it was at five years old when I heard my parents fight through the wall, and I sat in bed with my hands over my ears, wondering if it was my fault.

I never said anything. That became the theme.

Silence is a strange kind of armor. You don’t realize how heavy it is until it’s part of your skin. It’s not just the things I never said out loud — it’s the things I stopped even thinking because they had nowhere to go. Thoughts unspoken become dust in the attic of your mind, piled up and untouched.

Growing up, I was praised for being the quiet one. The obedient one. “Such a good listener,” teachers said. What they didn’t know was that I didn’t feel like I had permission to speak. My thoughts were trained to fold in on themselves like origami — neat, intricate, but unread.

There are things I’ve never said out loud to anyone, and maybe I never will. But for once, I want to try writing them down.

The Things I Didn’t Say in High School

I didn’t say I hated being invisible. That walking the hallways between classes felt like trying to breathe underwater. I wasn’t bullied — I was just… nothing. No one. I wasn’t popular or hated. I was in that strange gray middle where people forget you exist even when you’re right next to them.

I didn’t say I was terrified to ask questions in class. That raising my hand made my heart beat like a trapped bird. I always knew the answers, but silence felt safer than attention.

I didn’t say I was lonely. Or that I wondered if maybe something was wrong with me. Why I couldn't just be louder, like the others. Why being myself felt like a mistake.

The Things I Didn’t Say in Love

I didn’t say I loved you first. I waited. And then I waited too long.

You told me you were leaving town in the spring. I smiled and wished you luck. What I didn’t say was that you were the first person who made me feel seen. Like I wasn’t invisible anymore. But I told myself, Don’t make it messy. Don’t be dramatic. Don’t say it.

So I didn’t.

I also didn’t say it to the one after you — not when he made me feel small, not when he poked fun at my dreams, not when I cried in the bathroom so he wouldn’t see. I told myself I could handle it. That it wasn’t abuse if he never hit me.

But silence can bruise just as deep.

The Things I Didn’t Say to My Family

I didn’t say I was drowning when I moved back home in my twenties. Everyone thought I was doing great. “You’re so independent!” they’d say. I wanted to scream, No, I’m just tired of asking for help no one gives.

I didn’t say I hated family dinners. Not because of the food, but because of the way everyone talked at each other and never with each other. No one ever listened. It was like we were all actors in a play, delivering lines written years ago and never revised.

I didn’t say I felt like I was fading into a life I didn’t choose.

The Things I Didn’t Say to Myself

This one hurts the most.

I didn’t say I was proud of myself when I survived things that almost broke me.

I didn’t say “You are worthy” on the nights I stared at the ceiling, wondering what the point of it all was.

I didn’t say “You are enough” when I failed, when I quit, when I walked away from people who didn’t value me.

Instead, I said things like:

“It’s not that bad.”

“Others have it worse.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

I gaslit myself better than anyone else could.

Why We Stay Silent

There’s a myth that silence is noble. That keeping the peace is strength. That not burdening others is kindness.

But sometimes silence is fear dressed in a polite coat.

We stay quiet because we’ve been taught that our feelings are inconvenient. That vulnerability is weakness. That to be heard, you have to be loud — and not everyone knows how to be loud.

So we internalize. We adapt. We shrink ourselves into something socially acceptable.

We mistake being quiet for being okay.

What Breaking the Silence Feels Like

It’s awkward, at first. Like speaking a second language you barely remember. You trip over your own emotions. You say too much or not enough. Your voice shakes. Your hands sweat.

But each time you say something out loud — something real — you reclaim a little more of yourself.

You learn that being heard isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being honest.

You learn that some people will leave when you start speaking your truth. And that’s okay. Because the ones who stay are the ones who can hold space for the real you, not just the edited version.

The Things I’m Learning to Say Now

I’m not always okay.

I need help.

I miss you.

I forgive you.

I forgive myself.

I want more.

I deserve better.

I love you.

I love me.

It’s still hard. Some days, I want to go back into the shell I lived in for so long. But then I remember what it cost me to stay silent all those years.

My voice. My needs. My truth.

I won’t lose those again.

If You’re Reading This

If you're reading this and thinking, This sounds like me, then maybe we’ve both been quiet for too long.

You don’t have to write a poem. You don’t have to scream.

But start with something.

Tell a friend you're not doing well. Say no when you mean no. Say yes when you're afraid but curious. Say "I’m still figuring it out" when the world wants certainty.

Say something.

Because you deserve to be heard — not just by others, but by yourself.

And maybe, just maybe, your voice is exactly what someone else needs to hear to find theirs.