Breaking the Silence: The Cost of Repression

The Price of Peace: A Journey from Repression to Self-Acceptance

Since I was a child, I was taught not to express my feelings in an environment full of demands and perfectionism. Between trying to please my father—whom I always adored, to the point of giving up my true personality out of fear that he might punish me by not speaking to me or harming those around me to make me feel guilty—and my mother’s high expectations, which always made me feel like there was something wrong with me or that I wasn’t perfect yet, I learned to suppress and even ignore my feelings to maintain peace with them.

These repressed feelings turned into illnesses, such as thyroid problems, spinal issues, and emotional outbursts when I felt triggered. When I decided to heal myself, discover who I am, and love myself unconditionally, I began to express myself more, share my opinions, and even stand up for myself.

The first time I stood up to my father, he disappeared from my life for ten years and never spoke to me again. I already knew I would lose him as soon as I started disagreeing with everything he said. But this time, I decided to pay the price. It hurt a lot, and I sought various therapies to release the anger, heal the wound, and forgive him.

One day, in a life-orchestrated moment, we ran into each other on the street. That was the beginning of a reconnection. Today, we are in contact, and while he still tends to remain silent when he disapproves of something, it no longer hurts me. I let him act as he wishes, but I no longer compromise on my decisions.

With my mother, it was more explosive. Whenever I defended myself against her insinuations, she would say I had evil inside me. Hearing something like that from my mother, who was supposed to love me unconditionally, was deeply hurtful. But this time, I didn’t stay silent, even though I needed her since I was living in her house recovering from surgery that left me dependent. At any moment, she could have thrown me out in a foreign country. It was incredibly painful!

However, expressing everything I had felt since childhood—talking, crying, screaming—was liberating, and I had never felt so loved by myself, even by God. For a while, she didn’t speak to me, and I didn’t apologize as I had always done to fix the relationship. Instead, I processed it, grieved, and chose to understand her while making it clear that I would never allow her to mistreat or hurt me again.

With time, we started talking again, but only because I had the courage to ask her for a hug. To get to that point, I wrote letters to my mother, burned them, and performed rituals in nature with the aim of healing what was necessary in that relationship—for myself. To free myself and be happy as I am, without demands or expectations.

I learned not to expect anything from them while still valuing all they had given me. Don’t get me wrong—they are not bad people; on the contrary, they are very honest and loving, with rare qualities. But now I want to embody those same values in my own way. And nothing will make me give up who I am or my demand to be respected as such.

Story written by Anonymous - April 2025