Raspberry Iced M

There is a delicate balance that exists in everyone’s lives…

On one side of a metaphorical scale is “speaking up.” On the other, “keeping quiet.”

I’ve been different seasons of my life on both sides of that scale. And I’m still not great at knowing which option to choose in any given situation.

There have been times when I have said too much. Explained too much. Defending too radically. Responded too quickly…all in a desperate attempt to make someone understand my perspective.

And there have been other times when I have said nothing. Swallowed my feelings. Cried in private while pretending like something didn’t bother me. I’ve avoided conversations and called it “keeping the peace,” when really, I was just afraid of what might happen if I spoke.

Neither side of the scale feels particularly peaceful, though, and I’m beginning to understand why.

Peace isn’t always silence. And speaking up isn’t always conflict.

Wisdom is knowing which one the moment requires.

Silence is a powerful weapon. I have learned that not everything deserves a response. Not ever inaccurate statement needs to be corrected. Not every criticism requires a defense. Not every misunderstanding needs an explanation. And not every invitation to argue deserves as RSVP.

Sometimes silence says, “This is who I am. I don’t need to convince you. This conversation isn’t going anywhere productive. I’ve already said what needed to be said. I’m not giving this anymore of my energy.“

And there is tremendous peace in realizing that I am not obligated to attend every trial where someone else is the self-appointed judge and jury.

Sometimes the healthiest thing I can say is absolutely nothing.

But silene isn’t always peace. And this is where it gets complicated.

I’ve also used silence out of fear. I’ve kept quiet because I didn’t want someone to be angry. I’ve avoided conversations because I worried I’d be rejected. I’ve minimized my own feelings to make someone else more comfortable. I’ve apologized for things that were not my fault…simply because other things were my fault. I’ve convinced myself that a conversation “wasn’t worth it,” when the truth was that I just wasn’t brave enough to address what was bothering me.

And that? That’s not peace at all. That’s avoidance.

I have learned that there is a difference between choosing not to respond and being afraid to speak. They look identical from the outside, but inside, they feel different.

That said, speaking up isn’t always healthier either. Just because something is true doesn’t mean I have to be the one to say it. Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean I need to announce it immediately. Just because I disagree doesn’t mean I need to try to win others to my cause. Just because someone misinterprets my actions doesn’t mean I need to launch a 6 point oral brief, complete with exhibits.

Sometimes my desire to “communicate” is actually motivated by control – controlling the way someone sees me.

And that’s been uncomfortable to sit with lately. Because there are times when I’ve said I wanted to “explain myself” when what I really wanted was to change someone’s mind. And those aren’t necessarily the same thing.

So how do I decide? How do I choose when to tip the scale toward speaking up? And when is it really best to just keep my big mouth shut?

I have spent the last year of my life questioning my own motives. My motivation behind big decisions, like what kind of car to buy…and little things, like what to wear to church.

These situations are no different. As has been typical of me for the last year, I am learning to ask myself questions before I speak.

Does something actually need to change? If a behavior is affecting my relationship, my responsibilities, my family, my values, or my ability to interact with someone in a healthy way, a conversation may be necessary.

Have I already said this? This one has saved me so much energy. If I have communicated something clearly and respectfully, then repeating it 17 different ways probably isn’t going to create understanding. If I have done my part, I’m not repeating myself.

Am I trying to communicate – or control? Do I need this person to know how I feel? Or do I need for this person to concede defeat? Those are very different goals.

Will speaking create clarity or more chaos? This question, in particular, is the one I ask myself most when coparenting. Nothing I have said in the last 5 years to my son’s dad/stepmom has been received any way except incorrectly. That’s not to say the content of my messages has always been “right,” but I’ve come to understand that anything I say and/or do will be twisted, misinterpreted, and judged. And worse, our son will be caught in the dead center of it. I’m no longer angry that this happens, because I’ll admit to misinterpreting my coparent’s choices as well. And that’s wrong. So I have pivoted by reminding myself that some conversations solve problems, while others simply give problems additional vocabulary.

What will happen if I say nothing? Sometimes the answer is, “Nothing.” And that’s freeing. Other times, the answer is, “I’ll become resentful.” If I have to continue to tolerate things I shouldn’t…and if staying quiet means a necessary boundary won’t be communicated effectively, then the relationship will suffer. That’s when silence costs more than speaking.

Sometimes peace requires an uncomfortable conversation. I think – as a general rule – the word “peace” is associated with the absence of conflict. I don’t agree with that globally accepted definition. Sometimes peace is on the other side of conflict. Sometimes it is important to say, “That hurt me. I don’t agree. This isn’t working for me. Please don’t speak to me that way. I need something to change. No.” Those conversations give me heart palpitations, as they can create temporary discomfort and awkwardness in a relationship. But avoiding them can create long-term resentment. And resentment is not peace. It’s just conflict that went underground.

I can speak without fighting. I don’t have to choose between silence and war. There is a middle ground, even if I am not always capable, yet, of seeing it.

I can be direct without being cruel. I can disagree without attacking. I can tell someone they hurt me without assigning motives to their actions. I can establish a boundary without delivering a character assessment.

I can say what I need to say…and stop. No closing argument. No supporting examples from 2007 to the present. No desperate attempt to force understanding. Just truth. Spoken with love. And then released.

And contrary to former beliefs, sometimes peace means letting someone be wrong about me. This sits heavy on my shoulders on a daily basis. Because many, many people misunderstand me. They interpret my motives incorrectly. Their version of events are very different from mine. And sometimes I just need to let that version exist…without accepting it as truth. While I do not have to agree, I realize now that correcting others’ perception is not my responsibility. I know what I said. I know what I did. And God knows my heart. I am self-aware to a near toxic degree. I can examine myself honestly, own what belongs to me, and leave the rest alone.

And the truth about all of this? I have to depend on guidance from the Lord. Because I don’t yet trust myself to decide, for myself, whether or not I need to confront or remain quiet, I pray beforehand. In obvious defining moments where this crossroads presents itself – like when coparenting or when there’s tension in my marriage – and in moments when it may not seem like the path I choose will alter my future in the slightest – like when sending a “happy birthday” text or when speaking to my hair stylist or doctor or even the cashier at the gas station down the street – I still try to pray. I pray for guidance, for the right words (if any), and that my facial expressions, language, and overall energy will reflect Him.

See, Jesus wasn’t always someone who remained silent. He also didn’t always respond. Sometimes He confronted. Sometimes He corrected. Sometimes He asked questions. Sometimes He withdrew. Sometimes He answered accusations.

And sometimes He stood before people who had already decided what they believed about him…and kept quiet.

Wisdom isn’t simply know how to speak. It’s knowing when.

There will probably always be times when I speak and later wish I’d kept my mouth shut. And there will probably always be times when I keep quiet and later regret not speaking.

But these days, I’m trying to make decisions from the same place.

Not fear or anger or pride or the desperate need to be understood, but instead, love, truth, wisdom, and peace.

Sometimes protecting my peace means walking away without a word. And sometimes it means finally saying the words I’ve been afraid to say. The goal isn’t to become a woman who never speaks up or who shrinks under discomfort, thereby marking her future as the doormat people wipe their shoes on. And it also isn’t to become a woman who addresses everything and who picks every battle, thereby earning yet another label around confrontation, aggression and toxicity.

I want to become a person who knows the difference.