WHAT I HAVEN’T SAID

So many things I haven’t said. No. Stop. No. Don’t. Won’t. Can’t. Those are the words I have said, and no one listened. No one heard.

What I haven’t said is what came after each time I wasn’t heard.

I feel the chains of oppression settle in on my shoulders. They weigh down my arms and hands so I cannot lift a pen to voice these truths.

I feel the sucker punch of shame in my gut that robs me of breath to speak out loud.

My oppressors. My suppressors. My abusers. My family. Their voices clamour in the background ALL THE TIME. Shut up. Be quiet. Don’t tell. Don’t lie. Don’t tell the truth. Pretend, always pretend.

And I pick up my pen anyway, but what comes out is fiction because I cannot lie but I cannot tell the truth. My tongue is shackled.

What would I say if the world was ready to listen?The thought of that fills me with fear, it creeps into every part of my existence. It threatens to smother me with the aftermath of recriminations that would follow if my words were heard, loud and strong. Even if “they” don’t silence me, I will.

I am not front and center of a world audience, though. That really isn’t where I want to be.But I would like to stop hiding at least when I am in my own backyard. What would I say there?Where there are friends and supporters who are more likely to listen, who might not change who they are with me when they hear my truth. I don’t take any chances though. These friends are dear to me, I won’t risk that look of panic as their eyes dart to the side, as they frantically try to escape the truth they missed, the reason they — we — felt a connection, the knowledge that we share more than a love of quilting.

Our truth is this: We are women. Chances are very high that we could share stories of abuse, of violence, of verbal threats and insults, of rape, of denial, of abandonment, of shame, of power held over us.

But these are not easy stories to share and we hesitate to bring them out into this safe space of crisp, colorful fabrics and soft batting. No need to allow that darkness to seep into our cotton fibers. We are here instead to comfort and accept each other without “those” words.

Deep inside we all know that our beautiful quilts will stand in our place to soak up the silent tears of another woman, or another child, who screams their words into the safety of the silence.

No. Stop. Don’t. Can’t. Won’t.

Still the words I haven’t said haunt my days and nights.

About The Author

Bonnie Ellen is a retired virtual assistant, a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, a writer, and a quilter. Writing and quilting have been lifesaving creative endeavours throughout her healing journey. She occasionally posts her insights and learnings on her blog