Silencing.

 Over on substack I've been wading through the words stuck and unsticking, writing the complaint.

The complaint I said I'd never make. And at 4am this morning, having woken up in as cold a cold sweat is possible in this greenhouse world, I went back to edit out the name of the therapist's 'ethical body '. I have to view myself through the dominant culture's lens, and agree that I might be malicious and wrong.

Unfortunately I'm very good at doing this and the force of it has already stopped me from speaking up when I should, too many times. It has meant that people assume my silence on a matter means that I'm fine. It has meant that I can't see myself as a victim until it is too late. And it still renders me powerless.

After editing the post I started thinking about my mother in law who dared not to speak up. So she died of sepsis from bedsores. Yes, they are connected. One thing led to the other. A fundamental principle in her home was of keeping the peace.

Lots to think about...


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