Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence

Silence Is Deadly

57 Comments


http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=death%20clock&pc=conduit&ptag=A8FE4BCE7BDDC43E78BF&form=CONBNT&conlogo=CT3210127#view=detail&id=31FCA0540D1DE21718F3F1445A01A8A469D4C71F&selectedIndex=6

Silence is Deadly

As a newborn, you cry loudly with your first breath and grip your mother’s hand for the first time; your first bond continues its formation. As an infant, you absorb the world, learn and grow. You learn to roll over, pull up, crawl and walk. Your first birthday is celebrated with grandeur. Your relationships expand as you explore your great big world. You change, adapt and weave yourself into friendships.

Your voice is heard.

At 13, you are officially a teen. At 16, you are now a licensed driver. At 18, you are now officially an adult and graduate from high school and go to college.  At 21 you can go to a bar or club, join the military and vote.  At 22, you graduate from college, get your first job, and become a contributing member of society.

Your voice is heard.

In this short span of time, every achievement is met with jubilance; shouts from the mountaintops pierce the veil of silence as you are celebrated for each accomplishment. Acceptance is your reward.

Your voice is heard.

You have discovered right from wrong, the things that are accepted, and the things that are not. You have experienced, in relationships with others, that some will thrive and some will fail. You will feel the sting of rejection, heartache and pain. You will know what it is to succeed as well as fail.

Sometimes silence is preferred.

Failure elicits disappointment while ability is met with credence. Grievances, undoubtedly meet with disdain, while molding into your surroundings connects with respect.

Silence is beneficial.

You never desired to see the person you confide in reflect any sort of disappointment or derision.  You never made it your life’s mission to display your dirty laundry, your insolvencies or your mistakes.

You are silent.

Tell me, when you feel intimidated, do you speak up? When you are bullied is speaking out your first course of action? Let me ask you this. When the one you love and trust, the one you give yourself to with complete abandon tells you that you are no one, nothing, mental or unstable, do you believe them? I mean really, you have never known this degree of evil.  Will you be able to recognize it when you see it?  Are you confused?

Silence.

In any case, let’s bring the deadliest enemy to the forefront. Suppose you have voiced resistance to intimidation, bullying, shame, violence, hurt or pain, did your confidante really listen? Did they believe you? Did anyone offer viable solutions?

Silence is solidified.

Your heart, mind, body and soul is caged like a wild animal and you reciprocate by acting like one. You know nothing but obedience or reprisal. No one hears your cries of desperation; they turn a blind eye and may even take the side of your captor out of fear of retribution themselves. Your life’s spirit now sucked from you and into the vacuum of a soulless being, you give up the fight.

It is now time to die by either his hands or your own.

Silence is deadly.



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Author: Teela Hart

I am a mother, daughter, sister and domestic violence survivor.

57 thoughts on “Silence Is Deadly

  1. Thank you for your writing and your support. I just wanted to let you know I nominated you for the liebster award :). The details are on my latest post.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Heartbreakingly brilliant Teela.

    Like

  3. I absolutely identify with this, Teela; it made me feel very sad reading it, for you, for me, for all the others out there whose voices trickle into terrified nothingness. xxx

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  4. “Only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.” Audre Lorde

    I am inspired by your courage to speak out.

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  5. I learned how to speak above a whisper again two years ago. I am still finding a voice, however.

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  6. Would I be correct in seeing an intentional connection with “It is now time to die by either his hands or your own.”, and the opening the post with talk of time passing, and the photo of Father Time / Death having a killing instrument (scythe) in his hands, and a literal clockface with hands that hold hours, minutes and seconds that can also kill?

    Either way, this was an excellently crafted piece of persuasive creative writing… very deep and powerful. You are an excellent writer Teela, and I am quite impressed! If the connections I observed were intentional, I hope that I was not the only one who noticed the breadth of your depth!

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    • You would be correct in your observations in the photo with the writing.
      Ryan, I thank you so much for your kind words about my heart’s cry.
      Thank you friend
      Hugs
      Tee

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      • You’re welcome friend, thank you for sharing your heart’s cry!
        Hugs to you to.
        Ry

        PS
        I think we are both deeper than many notice, and perhaps it is because we are good friends, we notice each other’s depths more. It’s with heartfelt Platonic love I share in response to you informing me I was was right, lines 163-243 of William Wordsworth’s “The Excursion: Book 1: The Wanderer” :

        “Thus informed,
        He had small need of books; for many a tale
        Traditionary, round the mountains hung,
        And many a legend, peopling the dark woods,
        Nourished Imagination in her growth,
        And gave the Mind that apprehensive power
        By which she is made quick to recognise
        The moral properties and scope of things.
        But eagerly he read, and read again,
        Whate’er the minister’s old shelf supplied;
        The life and death of martyrs, who sustained,
        With will inflexible, those fearful pangs
        Triumphantly displayed in records left
        Of persecution, and the Covenant–times
        Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour!
        And there, by lucky hap, had been preserved
        A straggling volume, torn and incomplete,
        That left half-told the preternatural tale,
        Romance of giants, chronicle of fiends,
        Profuse in garniture of wooden cuts
        Strange and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,
        Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too,
        With long and ghostly shanks–forms which once seen
        Could never be forgotten!

        In his heart,
        Where Fear sate thus, a cherished visitant,
        Was wanting yet the pure delight of love
        By sound diffused, or by the breathing air,
        Or by the silent looks of happy things,
        Or flowing from the universal face
        Of earth and sky. But he had felt the power
        Of Nature, and already was prepared,
        By his intense conceptions, to receive
        Deeply the lesson deep of love which he,
        Whom Nature, by whatever means, has taught
        To feel intensely, cannot but receive.

        Such was the Boy–but for the growing Youth
        What soul was his, when, from the naked top
        Of some bold headland, he beheld the sun
        Rise up, and bathe the world in light! He looked–
        Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth
        And ocean’s liquid mass, in gladness lay
        Beneath him:–Far and wide the clouds were touched,
        And in their silent faces could he read
        Unutterable love. Sound needed none,
        Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank
        The spectacle: sensation, soul, and form,
        All melted into him; they swallowed up
        His animal being; in them did he live,
        And by them did he live; they were his life.
        In such access of mind, in such high hour
        Of visitation from the living God,
        Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired.
        No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request;
        Rapt into still communion that transcends
        The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
        His mind was a thanksgiving to the power
        That made him; it was blessedness and love!

        A Herdsman on the lonely mountain tops,
        Such intercourse was his, and in this sort
        Was his existence oftentimes ‘possessed’.
        O then how beautiful, how bright, appeared
        The written promise! Early had he learned
        To reverence the volume that displays
        The mystery, the life which cannot die;
        But in the mountains did he ‘feel’ his faith.
        All things, responsive to the writing, there
        Breathed immortality, revolving life,
        And greatness still revolving; infinite:
        There littleness was not; the least of things
        Seemed infinite; and there his spirit shaped
        Her prospects, nor did he believe,–he ‘saw’.
        What wonder if his being thus became
        Sublime and comprehensive! Low desires,
        Low thoughts had there no place; yet was his heart
        Lowly; for he was meek in gratitude,
        Oft as he called those ecstasies to mind,
        And whence they flowed; and from them he acquired
        Wisdom, which works through patience; thence he learned
        In oft-recurring hours of sober thought
        To look on Nature with a humble heart.
        Self-questioned where it did not understand,
        And with a superstitious eye of love.”

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      • Thank you for sharing friend.
        🙂

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  7. Oh Teela…you have touched my heart with this. I felt like I had no voice as far back as 10 years old. I have found it…I never thought about silence in this way. What also came to mind is the opposite-my adult daughter stood up to her friend’s abuser-she ended up being thrown across the room and ended up out of work for three weeks with a broken collarbone. She was too afraid to file a police report…Silence or Resistance….it kind of seems like one will kill you from the inside-the other from the outside…AoA

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    • I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. Silence or resistance can get the same result as you stated here.

      I am so glad that my words spoke to you and I’m glad you found your voice.

      Thank you AoA

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  8. Powerfully insightful. I can’t take my words off the page.

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  9. I can’t find the words but needed to say something. This piece moved me beyond words.

    I have been in similar situations and thought I would recognize it in someone else. I did not. Fortunately, she got out too.

    Thank you for this.
    ~DA

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  10. Eloquent. I used to have a dream where I would scream and no words came out, I remained silent while in torment. In the fog of my life I never interpreted it correctly, now I do. I am glad you made your voice heard with your writing so we and others can hear it.

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    • Thank you. I am happy that the words have helped you, it means more to me that you will ever know. There are times when I think these things should never be re-visited but they are trumped with the need to believe that those times should never be wasted.

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      • I go through that, I ask myself why am I staying with this, rehashing it all over and over but in the end I am feeling the healing. I think the more people speak out on this, the more people will understand and it will have an impact. Have a great day.

        Liked by 1 person

  11. You are a courageous woman. Thanks for sharing your story. I am touched you are following my blog. Blessings.

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  12. Powerful post, thank you for sharing. Yes, scream if need be!

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  13. Reblogged this on By the Mighty Mumford and commented:
    SILENCE…TEELA HART KNOWS IT!!!

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  14. And those hurting or abused hurt the most by it.

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  15. Beautifully and powerfully put, Teela.

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  16. and sometimes silence is all we need to survive another round! beautifully written!! xx

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  17. beautiful and truthful..thank you

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