The Quiet War

This is what freedom looks like— even when you’re still learning how to live in it.

My escape didn’t happen overnight. In fact, it came in small trades. At first, it sounded like a little of my laughter for a little of their calm. Then it became a little of my truth for a little less tension in the room.

You see, I didn’t have the words to negotiate back then — mostly because I was too busy surviving. And of course, my silence was framed as love. But I called it exactly what it was: trading my voice for peace.

But we all know that peace built on shrinking is just silence wearing perfume.

At first, I thought survival meant compliance — harmony. So I learned how to make myself smaller than the sound of their voices. I turned apologies into lullabies and mastered how to keep still long enough for the storm to pass.

But storms like these — they don’t just pass over you. They're being fed with your stillness— so they memorize that stillness and start to expect it. It becomes a prerequisite for your belonging.

But the thing is, your body always knows before your mind does. And my body — it began to refuse things on my behalf.

Sleep began to flee. Appetite vanished. My voice splintered into whispers.

And what I know now is that each symptom was a flare — and the flares were all trying to warn me that the systems I was in were not safe.

Yet, I kept trying anyway. I tried to rearrange myself into something quieter, something easier, something that wouldn’t make others uncomfortable.

But I could never truly shrink low enough — because the truth is this: If your spirit says no, your body will snitch on you every single time. You see, your body will never betray your soul.

One night, I stopped managing other people’s weather. And in that moment I started listening to my own breath instead.

Was it trembling?

Yes, it was.

But it was mine. And I was listening.

That’s how freedom starts. It’s not necessarily with bravery — it’s when you refuse to allow another person’s lie to be told through your lungs. It literally starts when we refuse to breathe other people’s falsehood.

They thought I was broken.

It’s funny though — because no one had any idea about what was really happening. In reality, they were witnessing me break patterns in real time.

People couldn’t see that though. Not right away. They couldn’t see that every crack was an opening — another boundary learning its language.

Ultimately, I did not lose myself. I only met the part of me that wouldn’t disappear for the comfort of others.

So when I hear my own breath now — it sounds like truth. And when I get up to walk, the ground doesn’t quiver beneath me. I still carry softness of course, but it’s the kind that knows its own strength.

Listen. I am no longer the quiet before the storm. I’m now the woman who learned that she was the weather all along.