Prejudice exists. I’m often judged and categorized for discussing my upbringing. It gets old. I’d be much more acceptable to them if I didn’t stand by my right to speak.
Uncomfortable and unending, the opinions around me fly. Why don’t they be quiet? I didn’t ask them, did I?
Unfortunately, this judgment and my shame had me spending time on the wrong side of the tracks. There, I found my people, I suppose. They were more tolerable of me and had understanding. They often had their own story to tell.
It was easier than trying to fit my square peg into society’s round hole.
I hurt myself more than once as a result of being shunned and quieted. The world’s rules that tell us to keep quiet are designed to hurt. These rules seem to mimic the rules of my father.
Let’s see, there is “Don’t talk unless you’re spoken to” – that’s one. How about this, “You can join us and be apart of us when you get your pain under control.” I heard that one a lot as a kid. I’m still hearing it now, as an adult. Go heal yourself and come back.
Why do the rules of this world look the same as the rules of an abuser?
I have decided I’m not living by those rules anymore. I have my own. I can be messy and unafraid. I can be vulnerable and strong.
God tells me to shout from the roof tops what He’s been speaking to me. He tells me, “I’m free.” He calls me by name and says, “I am courageous.”
So, I didn’t start this war but with the strength of God, I am ending it in my life.