How to Speak Without Shrinking
When telling the truth feels like betrayal, but silence feels like self-erasure.
🎧 Listen While You Read:
“Bird’s Lament” by Moondog
A mourning dove turned militant. A requiem that marches instead of weeping. Let this be the rhythm of your voice’s return.
I was trained to protect people from the truth of how they made me feel.
It started innocently enough—like a spiritual reflex, a survival-based tenderness. I noticed early on that my feelings had the power to activate shame in others. That a simple “that hurt” could trigger defensiveness, retreat, blame. So I learned to flinch preemptively. Speak softly. Dilute my words with disclaimers. Disappear just enough to keep others from falling apart.
But there comes a time—call it a psychic threshold, a soul revolt—when the body says:
No more.
No more protecting others at the cost of myself.
No more shrinking just to preserve the illusion of peace.
No more pretending that silence is compassion.
Because it isn’t.
The Moment I Knew I Had to Stop Shrinking
I tried to say it gently:
“I know you meant well… but this still hurt me.”
But what they heard was:
“You’re a bad person.”
And then came the shame storm.
Suddenly, I was comforting them—for being upset that I was upset.
It hit me then:
I had been living in a communication ritual that reversed the river.
Every time I brought a feeling, I was handed theirs in return.
Every time I needed to be seen, I became the seer.
I was fluent in other people’s wounds and illiterate in my own.
No wonder I felt so lonely.
What Shrinking Sounds Like:
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it…”
“Maybe I’m just being too sensitive…”
“Forget it, it’s not a big deal…”
(But it was. And you still feel it. The unspoken has weight.)
What Speaking Sounds Like:
“I know you tried. I believe that.
And… this still didn’t feel okay to me.
I’m not blaming you. I’m just being honest about how it landed.
I’m not asking you to fix it. Just to see me.”
You can love someone deeply and still name a rupture.
You can validate their intention and still honor your impact.
This is not cruelty. This is maturity.
And if their shame can’t let them sit in the same room with your truth?
That’s not your failure.
That’s their growth edge.
A Truth I’m Living Into Now:
Silence is not the same as safety.
Silence is a subtle kind of decay.
It calcifies over time, turning connection into performance.
I don’t want relationships where I have to rehearse who I am just to be loved.
I want rooms where the truth is allowed to breathe.
And yes, that means I might be misread.
Called cruel. Dramatic. Sensitive. “Too much.”
But you know what’s too much?
Shrinking your truth to protect someone else’s comfort until your soul starts limping.
🔍 Self-Excavation Prompts: Journal These in the Wake of Truth-Telling
Where in my life do I still shrink?
Who taught me that my truth is dangerous?
What relationships make me feel like I have to rehearse my feelings?
What do I want to feel when I speak?
🪬 Spell-Incantation for Truth-Tellers
(To be whispered, screamed, or stitched into the seams of your spine)
I do not fear your discomfort.
I fear my own extinction.
So I speak,
Not to sever,
But to summon a world where I fit.
🌬 Grounding Practice: The Re-Centering Ritual (for After You Speak)
Purpose:
To reclaim your center after naming a hard truth—especially if someone responds with shame, blame, or withdrawal.
You’ll need:
A mirror
A cup of warm water
3 minutes alone
Steps:
Look yourself in the eyes. Gently.
Say: “I did not betray myself today.”Sip the water slowly. Let it symbolize emotional replenishment.
Place a hand on your chest and breathe.
Say (or whisper):
“I belong to truth. I belong to myself. I belong here.”Repeat your name out loud.
Like it’s a spell that calls you home.
A Blessing for Those Who Speak
May your truth rise like heat from your bones.
May your nervous system know the difference between danger and discomfort.
May your care never again require your disappearance.
And may the people who deserve you, stay in the room when you speak.
🜃
(Awake on purpose. Voice returned.)
📯 thealchemyofbecoming.substack.com
🧨 Share this with the one who still thinks you’re “too much.” They’re not ready for your exactness.