My new life motto is “Living Out Loud”. This doesn’t mean that I will now become an uncaring loveless loudmouth, or as the Bible (not so delicately put it) ‘a clanging cymbal’.
No! I choose this motto because in my life silence has kept me imprisoned. I learned very early to stay silent. Those who know me would probably not describe me as silent. Nor would anyone meeting me assume that I have lived much of my life imprisoned by silence. I am known as pretty outspoken, opinionated, and not afraid to give my opinion if asked. Public speaking does not intimidate me. Holding conversation with a random stranger is not a hardship. I have friends who say they never would have guessed that I was imprisoned by silence. Of course not, along with being silent about the deepest concerns and hurts in my life I also became an accomplished and convincing actor in the stage production that was my own life.
Be Quiet Because I said So!
In the time and place I grew up parents were quick to administer a good beating if they thought a child was out of line. My father was what he would consider a strict disciplinarian and shared his “discipline” widely and generously. I certainly didn’t want to get any “discipline” so I did everything I could to avoid them. My mother managed her brood with an iron fist and “the eye”: that mama look that could cut you down and put you in your place in public without a word being spoken. Needless to say that upbringing did not come with any heart to heart discussions, parental understanding, or trust-filled parent child relationship building exercises. I learned early to appear compliant. However, being a precocious, nosy, talkative and energetic child, I got “disciplined” a lot. So as I grew up, whenever I could choose to avoid a beating I did.
Be Quiet – Children Must Be Seen and Not Heard!
Even as a youngster I knew what a difficult task my parents, especially my mother had caring for so many children (there were six of us when I was growing up and one more added after I left for college), I did everything I could do to help and I didn’t want to add to my parents’ stress. However, besides children who were polite, hardworking and well educated, that environment also bred other less desirable outcomes.
I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The members of my extended family who sexually abused me took advantage of the fact that I had learned to stay silent. Taking advantage of the environment where a child was vulnerable and fearful. They preyed upon a child who was easy to keep silent because her parents were busy. Victimizing a little girl who was fearful of and would do anything to avoid getting a beating, they used that fear and the inherent guilt that comes with the assaults to effectively gag their victim.
I did not tell anyone. I could not tell my parents. I didn’t want to be a bother, nor did I want to upset them or let them know that their own flesh and blood, the people they thought they could trust to help them care for us were assaulting me. So I kept silent. I didn’t keep silent to protect my abusers. I kept silent because I felt guilty and very, very afraid. So I cried silent tears, suffered silent torture and when I wasn’t doing homework or chores, I escaped into the worlds I found between the covers of library books. Well truth be told, even while doing household chores I read. I propped up my books above the kitchen sink when I did dishes, and over the wash tub when I did laundry. When I didn’t have chores I found places to hide and ride so I could escape my predators.
Eventually when I was twelve, one of my abusers found me hiding in the garden and he was caught in the act by my father of all people. I felt such relief in that moment, relief because I just knew my dad would handle things. I was sure that I was saved. My relief was extremely short lived and replaced with abject terror. I don’t even know if my dad addressed my abuser, but I got what I feared, a beating that rivaled any I had gotten before. I was twelve years old. I got punished for something I had no control over. The lesson and the practice of staying silent were solidified in me and became a part of my psyche. The sexual abuse stopped but my abusers continued to be part of the family like nothing had happened. I was a survivor, but I was left with well healed, keloid, emotional scars and the unshakable belief that I was right all along. Silence was the best policy.
The lessons of my childhood lived on in me through adolescence and into adulthood. I went to college, married, had children and raised a family. Yet all along the way, silence kept me imprisoned.
I Refuse to Just Be Quiet
My name is Deborah Jeremiah. Deborah was a prophetess and judge – i.e. settler of disputes in Israel (Judges 4:4-5). Jeremiah was a prophet (Jeremiah 1:4-5). Neither was silent. I have adopted the motto “Living Out Loud”. I am breaking out of the prison of my own silence and sharing my journey. I invite you to come along on the Journey with me.
