There comes a moment in every healing journey when words just aren’t enough anymore.

Not because you don’t have the language — but because you finally realize the truth doesn’t need to be proven. It just needs to be lived.

For me, that moment, that awakening came and continues to come after years of bending, explaining, shrinking, and translating myself into versions that were easier for others to swallow.

And it broke me in ways silence later healed.

There was a time when I thought explaining myself was the path to peace. That if I just said it right — with enough emotion, the right tone, and all the context — I’d finally be understood. Seen. Heard. Safe.

So I over-explained.

I would send long texts that read more like essays. I’d go back and reread them five times, worried I had said too much or not enough.
I’d sit on phone calls defending why I needed space.
Why I didn’t show up.
Why I changed.
Why I no longer allowed the same access people once had to me.

And after pouring all that energy out — you know what I was often met with?

Dismissal.
Defensiveness.
Silence.
Or worse… manipulation wrapped in fake concern.

It left me feeling drained and doubting. Every time I tried to explain myself, I felt like I was trying to prove I had a right to be me. To take up space. To say no. To have needs. To change.

But what hurt the most wasn’t that they didn’t understand me. It was that I knew they never really wanted to. That was the turning point!

One day, after yet another emotionally exhausting exchange — one where I had, once again, tried to lay my heart bare — I sat quietly on my bed and realized something:

“You don’t have to keep explaining yourself to people who are committed to misunderstanding you.”

“You don’t have to beg to be seen, heard or validated”

That was it. That was my awakening.

And from that moment forward, I made a decision that changed everything:

I chose silence as my boundary.

Not the cold kind. Not the avoidant kind.
But the sacred kind. The kind rooted in self-respect.

I no longer needed to perform emotional gymnastics to earn validation.
I no longer needed to plead for understanding from people who only heard what suited them.
I no longer needed to argue my worth.

Silence became my shield.
A quiet, steady line between my peace and their projections.

It was uncomfortable at first. Choosing not to defend myself felt unnatural — especially as someone who once found safety in over-explaining. But slowly, my silence began to speak louder than my words ever did.

It said:

I trust myself enough to walk away without giving you a tour of my heart.
I choose peace over proving my point.
My boundary doesn’t need to be loud to be valid.

And here’s the beautiful thing I discovered:

When you stop explaining yourself to people who don’t honor you, you start speaking more powerfully to the people who do.

The more I honored my silence, the more I found clarity.
The more I stopped talking to be understood, the more I understood myself.

And eventually, I realized something even deeper:

Silence isn’t the absence of communication — it’s the presence of power.

So Friend,

• Where in your life are you still explaining yourself just to be accepted?
• What would it feel like to stop performing and simply be?
• Who are you afraid will stop loving you if you stop explaining?

If you’ve been exhausting yourself trying to be understood, I want you to hear me:
You don’t owe access to everyone.
You don’t owe your healing to people who contributed to your harm.
And you certainly don’t owe a TED Talk every time you evolve.

You are allowed to change.
You are allowed to protect your peace.
You are allowed to say less — and mean more.

Sometimes, the most radical thing a woman can do is stop talking and start trusting.

To trust that her no is holy. because no in itself is Sacred.
That her peace is non-negotiable.
That her silence is not an absence, but a presence — of strength, self-trust, and sacred alignment.

Because the healed woman doesn’t need to shout.
She doesn’t need to defend.
She just is.

And that… is enough.

Keep rising, keep rewriting,
Lydia