The Silence That Bleeds

Being silent often feels like internal bleeding—an unseen hemorrhage of the soul. It's when your heart is shattered, but you choose not to speak because you know that if you speak from a place of pain, that pain can be transferred. So instead, you absorb it. You hold the broken pieces quietly, managing the damage in private, especially for your children.

We absorb the trauma of others. We become the buffer. We take their pain, their rage, their abandonment, and their silence—and then we try to break the cycle without breaking ourselves. But that process causes its own bruising.

The Bible tells us, “The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison” (James 3:8). Words spoken from an unhealed place can wound generations. So sometimes, silence is not weakness—it’s wisdom. Sometimes, the Holy Spirit hasn’t given us clearance to speak yet, because our words would come from flesh, not truth.

Our inner child needs healing. And while we’re nurturing our own wounded places, our actual children also need healing—from what we’ve done while hurting, and from what others have done to them out of their own hurt.

As Black women, as mothers, as sisters, wives, daughters, aunties—as the emotional backbone of so many lives—our words carry power. Our tone carries weight. Our silence can shake a room. That’s why we must learn to use our words like playing cards—strategically, intentionally, with timing. Not every emotion deserves a release. Not every moment requires a reaction.

Even Jesus remained silent before Pilate (Matthew 27:14), knowing that not every truth must be spoken to be known. Silence can be sacred when it’s Spirit-led, not fear-driven.

So the next time you hold your tongue, remember: your silence may be protection. It may be power. It may be waiting for the right word to be birthed—not out of pain, but out of purpose.