Mute and Mutated
Lately, I find myself measuring my words before I let them out. At work, I can talk about the weather, what needs to get done, or what someone had for lunch—but I don’t feel free to say what I am really thinking about what is happening in this country. I’m always wondering whether one honest comment will change the way someone sees me or damage a relationship I have to depend on every day.
That silence has affected me more than I expected. I carry around a mixture of anger, sadness, and disbelief, but I have nowhere to put it. Sometimes I sit among people I know well and feel completely alone. I hear things that trouble me deeply, and instead of responding, I swallow my words and move on. Keeping the peace may make the workday easier, but it also makes me feel as though I am hiding an important part of myself.
What frightens me most is not simply that people disagree. We have always disagreed. It is the feeling that we are losing the ability to recognize one another as decent human beings. I miss being able to talk honestly, listen carefully, and still walk away with respect for each other. Right now, even saying that feels like taking a risk.
BR & CD 70, 82