I have written already today. Instead of working on my monologues for All the Sex Monologues (the second), which will support Planned Parenthood and all the good work they do for countless women, or writing here in this place where I control my words, I wrote something else that I thought at the time was important. I learned that what I had to say was not important, at least to the people I wanted to say it to. I was cut off and not allowed to finish, although other people spoke for long periods of time and clogged the airways with information so dense it's impossible to argue against it. Information that appears to be complete and yet isn't. Best guesses instead of facts. Equivocations. And responses to any opposition with such bitterness and accusations people retreated in fear. And then sent me messages, and asked me to please use my voice. Because the funny thing is people think I have a powerful voice. Sometimes that's true. I do know that.
And yet .... Damn it. I have been silenced from the day I was born. Silenced with food, like mashed potatoes and gravy and dark corn syrup when I was only 2 weeks old because I dared to cry in the night. Silenced with hands and yardsticks and belts for asking why. Little girls are meant to be seen and not heard. Little girls are meant to be seen and not heard. Little girls are meant to be seen and not heard. If I had a nickel .... Silence does not buy peace though. Not for the person whose voice is caught high and hard in her throat like a sideways bone. Silence buys anger, and leaving.
I was silenced again tonight. I think I had something important to say, but that doesn't mean I had to speak my words. I realize that now. What was important was whether I was allowed to speak and finish speaking, and that was only important to me, because it made a difficult decision for me, being silenced did. Any place where I can't finish speaking is not a place that wants me. Nor should I want it. I am listening to this advice now. I was angry. I am angry, and sometimes anger is needed to make change.
A friend who is a minister told me I'm a difficult person for ministers to work with in a congregation. She said I'm a prophet (I said, "What? Nuh uh.") That I say things that ministers don't want to hear, but that they should listen to. She says she would value my voice in her church. I told her to be careful what she asks for. I don't know if I'm a prophet, but I do know my voice is often not comfortable for people to hear, whether it's in a church, a family, a group of friends. Hell, I'll bet it's surprising I have friends.
It's hard. It's hard to move on. It's harder to be silenced. I wish I could share what I wrote earlier today here just so somebody might read it, but it wouldn't make sense without a long explanation, and I'm tired.
I've learned that I'm more afraid of being silenced than I am of change. Change can be an adventure. Right?
Tonight I have that bone in my throat. It hurts. Tomorrow I will swallow it and go on.
Tell me, have you been silenced? What did you do?
