As a little girl, Mum always told me I talked too much. Dad convinced everyone that I could hold a conversation with a rock! I guess being the youngest of five, I had to make sure I talked enough so that I could have my turn with everyone.
Back then, I could easily pour my heart out to my friends about any and everything. Mum would tell me in very stern tones, "you don't have to tell everyone everything." Little by little, I learned the importance of this from experience more so than I did from Mum's words of caution.
I learned that once you share something with someone, it is out of your control. People then have the power to do with it what they want.
I learned that not everyone cares about what you have to say and what you share, and that's quite okay.
I learned that everyone who listens does so with a motive to either support you or arm themselves with content for their own separate conversations.
I learned that when you share with the intention of gaining support from those around you, you sometimes get misunderstood, dismissed or hurt.
I learned that I should be selective in who I share my thoughts with. "If someone if willing to talk about someone else to you, they will be just as willing to talk about you to someone else." How many times did I hear that? Plenty!
I learned that integrity was paramount and should guide everything I say. I recall Mum telling me never to share something that was not the truth because with everything I share, I should always be prepared to defend it as the truth that I was proud to share or be willing to defend it as the truth that I should not have shared, but never shame myself for sharing something that was a lie.
Fast forward to adulthood. I still love to talk with just about anyone who is willing to listen...about generic things, that is. I love to talk about things that are more personal to me, but only with those who are close to me and care enough to listen. I am blessed to have a few safe spaces where I can be free to celebrate the complexity of my being. Through it all, I love to maintain my privacy to the point where people who I've known for decades still don't know what really makes me tick.
A couple of years ago, some of my "friends" joined me to celebrate my birthday at my home. At one point during the evening, it dawned on me that if each of them shared everything they knew about me, the collective story would be void of the true essence of my life experiences.
Life has taught me that the many lessons Mum and Dad were trying to teach are proven. Life has taught me to be selective in what I share and with whom I share it. Life has taught me the true value of integrity, especially my integrity. Life has taught me the value and peace of being impeccable with my word. Life helped me to discover a sacred thing called silence. Life has taught me the powerful volume of silence.
I've come to accept silence as my shield. Silence is that space where I go to just be; be with me, with my thoughts, with my ear open to the gentle whispers of my Father. Silence safeguards against speaking out of turn and opening doors to my life that need not be open. Silence preserves those things that are on a need-to-know basis that many people don't need to know. Silence serves as my protective wall that offers protection akin to that which a tortoise is afforded when it retreats into its shell. Silence is that place that I go where I can get the nurturing and time I need...from myself. Silence is my place of refuge behind the walls. Silence is that balm that soothes my vulnerable heart. Silence is a language that I have mastered, but that few speak. Silence, is that deafening sound that says the trust has been eroded.
Today, I am Mum and Dad combined, cautioning my daughter who talks entirely too much. Each time I open my mouth when she's been talking more than is necessary, I hear the voice of my parents passing on the lessons they taught me. Through all of her years in school, I have said to her teachers, "you're right, she has the gift of gab". As a little girl, she was so excited that she is human and "not a dog because people would have been upset that I am always barking." That was her justification for being a chatterbox. As the old southern folks would say, she got it honest.
My wish is that my daughter discovers the joy of silence as a gift to protect her from those who are not worthy of the details that give them undeserved access. Simultaneously, I pray that life does not teach her to use silence as a shell to guard her heart because of hurt or the need to protect herself from the walls that broken trust can build.
If you listen intently, silence speaks in remarkably profound tones. "Silence speaks when words can't."
~~Vic~~
