Refuse to be Silenced

WARNING: THIS POST MAY CONTAIN MATERIAL RELATED TO SEXUAL ABUSE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

I’ve lived a really imperfect life. I’m sure everyone knows that already.

I’ve been an imperfect person in this life. In middle school, I was a bully. I slut-shamed girls out of jealousy or believing the more purity I maintained, the better of a person I was. This, obviously, is incredibly flawed.

As I grew older, I realized more and more just how much of a liberal I really am. How the value of human lives has become a question of politics is beyond me. I began defending more social injustices, even during times when my brain refused to title my experiences, even when I minimized my past and refused to acknowledge the sexual abuse I had experienced, even when the full picture wasn’t completely clear.

The election of 2016 came and went, and from it, an ugly side of humanity was revealed. I was a high school teacher at the time in the rural south. I sat down in front of each classroom after the elections, holding back tears, telling each class the importance of voting, reminding them to become as informed as possible when making that decision to vote. I told them my goal for them, sure, was to help them sing the correct notes, but ultimately, my biggest goal was to contribute and inspire them to be the best human beings they could possibly be.

I had a lanyard, and on my lanyard, I pinned my safety pin. The election exposed a horrific reality and hate plagued humanity. I had grown so much from where I was, even though wearing that safety pin terrified me. I had to ask myself if I was really courageous enough to speak up against injustice, to stop hatred in its tracks, even at the risk of my own safety. I was seeing people become targeted, because of who they loved, because of the color of their skin, because of who they simply were, because they existed, and little by little, my heart was breaking. I held onto my ideals, because I knew the importance of unconditional love and the value of human life.

Then I married him. To this day, I will forever hate that car accident…

I married him and slowly but surely, my voice left me. I am ashamed of who I became in 2018. I endured being called a lib-tard, seeing posters around my apartment of the SS symbol, listening to him belligerently scream the n-word on our back porch, claiming, by the way, that the term was supposed to be reflective of a “personality” and not a skin color (yeah, I still call BS on that one)… I was coerced into gun stores, and time and time again, regardless of the many times I explained that I had a suicidal past and would never trust such a purchase, he constantly was pressuring me to purchase a hand gun, simply because he wasn’t at the age to afford his own. I debated time and time again over social injustices, yet I continued to be silenced. My tender heart was numbing. He was infuriated with peaceful protests because he was one of the many who took kneeling during the National Anthem as a target against veterans instead of realizing it was a way to peacefully protest the discrimination POC face daily.

I stopped speaking. My life was completely numb at that point, and I chose to stay with the very thing I adamantly spoke out against. I attempt to not live with regret, but my friends, I regret being the bystander of hate. Forgiving myself is challenging when I was compliant to his hate, even though I hated it, even though I never felt safe. It still shocks me that I stayed with him, that I wouldn’t just leave, even after his constant racist “jokes,” even after his admiration of Nazi artifacts, even after he raped me and degraded my body, even after he claimed that my mental illness was used as an excuse for laziness, that anger was ultimately “better” than depression. I am ashamed, and I am so sorry that I was that person…

I refuse to have my voice stolen…

You know, it’s saddening, because I can speak out about mental illness and find support, but when I speak of civil rights and injustices, when I say black lives matter, all of a sudden, people are offended.

Why?

Don’t get me wrong, I have experienced the stigmatization of mental illness. I’ve heard to just suck it up. I’ve heard to just get over it, to distract myself, that time heals all wounds, that I’m weak, that “everyone gets a little sad sometimes,” but why is it, especially when it comes to pointing out social injustice, that everyone is all of a sudden more concerned about getting their nails done without a mask than a black man being murdered on tape by a police officer?

Yes, church, I’m calling you out. You know Jesus wasn’t white, right? You understand that we, as Christians, are called to love unconditionally, yet you are giving a tainted picture of who Christ is.

I’ve had this photo saved in my phone for months, because this is how people see those of faith. They see hate, they see bigotry, anger, and honestly, because this is how many Christians reflect the church, I can completely empathize with why people would resent our faith. You stand behind a man who mocked a person with disabilities, who stands behind white men with AR-15s who are upset over feeling trapped at home during the COVID pandemic over people of color who are exhausted and sick and tired of seeing lives being lost to police brutality, you stand behind a man who keeps human beings locked in cages and separated from their families, because he stamped the title “Christian” on his forehead. When you read 1 Corinthians 13, can you really replace Trump’s name with “Love” and it hold any merit?

I will no longer be silenced. I will no longer be told that my narrative no longer matters. I refuse to be a bystander of hate any longer. I will not be robbed of my ability to love unconditionally. I will not be robbed of my identity. I am a survivor, and I will speak out. I will never stand down again. People already made the mistake of trying to silence me before, but I am coming back with a vengeance, and if my voice finally being heard loses support, loses relationships, I will no longer fret. Why? Because I am following God’s will for me. I am called to love unconditionally, to not cast judgment, to be honest and vulnerable. If you’re offended by this blog post, then maybe it’s time to reflect on yourself, look inside, and see what the problem really is.

Black lives matter.

LGBTQIA lives matter (including mine – that’s right, I’m also a bisexual).

Hispanic lives matter.

Muslim lives matter.

Next time you wish to chant all lives matter, remember to include ALL lives, because our country is not reflecting that in its behaviors. If showing human decency is so much of a struggle for you, if someone’s claims that black lives matter makes you feel that your worth is somehow diminished, please double check your privilege.

I will no longer be silenced. Not again.