My Right To Being Selectively Witnessed

I feel almost paralyzed when it comes to trying to open up to someone about things I’ve been through.

It’s like I have sleep paralysis, but when it comes to my voice. 

There’s this fear in me that won’t let me speak. It’s so deeply ingrained within me because I know how fast a situation can switch to being unsafe. One moment you’re opening up, and the next you’re wishing you never said anything at all.

I know all it takes is a sentence for someone to invalidate my whole experience. That’s what the cost is for me. 

That’s where writing comes in.

It feels a lot more safe to sit down and get everything out that weighs on my heart and my mind. 

The page doesn’t flinch, or turn away, it doesn’t change the topic. There is no one actively perceiving what I say and interrupting before I finish. The page is just here. 

I know it’s just a digital document, but it's refreshing.

There’s no interruption, no invalidation.

My vulnerability is protected. It means everything to have a place where I can have a structured explanation of my feelings, because once I finish a piece I am proud to put myself out there in a space where I’m in control.

And when it comes to what I say, I mean everything— with no regrets. Maybe my delivery can be blunt, but I’ve grown to be proud of myself for learning how to speak up. 

I know I have it in me to open up. Just not to everyone. I’ve learned to choose who gets to witness me. 

I’ve learned discernment, I read people more carefully now— trying to understand who actually has the capacity to hold what I carry.

Because as much as I want to detach from wanting to be understood, I can’t. My story isn't something I can willingly hand over when it holds so much of my pride. The person I choose to tell needs to understand, it's not something I do lightly.

I've dealt with enough carelessness.

I am learning how to be okay with being misunderstood when it comes to the small things. But not when it comes to my story, I deserve someone who understands.