Joyless or Joyful

Silence is golden—or so they say.
But I’ve learned that silence is often encouraged by those who benefit most from it.

People try to quiet you in subtle ways: social media posts, side comments, well-meaning advice. They suggest restraint when what’s really needed is truth spoken out loud. They call it wisdom. Sometimes it’s just control.

I’ve stayed silent long enough on certain issues. I’ve always been outspoken, but there were topics I tucked away for years, choosing the so-called high road. I’m no longer taking it.

Family issues are just that—family issues. Yet judgment is handed down before grace ever enters the room, based solely on your past, long before anyone bothers to know who you are now. Where is the fairness in that?

Yes, I have a past. I’m not proud of it, but it’s mine. I’ve stood before the court of public opinion and endured everything that comes with it. At times, it felt like I barely escaped the fire, like those condemned in Salem—judged, sentenced, and condemned without mercy.

God has already dealt with me.
I no longer seek validation from people. God is still working on me, and that is enough.

Silence only benefits those with something to hide or an image to protect. I have neither anymore. I’m done reaching out, done begging for relationships, done explaining myself to people committed to misunderstanding me.

And let’s talk about boundaries. When someone uses that word on repeat, it’s often not about protection—it’s about exclusion. It means you no longer fit into their carefully curated, picture-perfect life. Their world is full. Their love quota has been met.

How remarkable—to have all the love you’ll ever need.
I didn’t realize there was a limit.