Silence has always been my safe place.

Silence has been my sanctuary.

It has been a saving grace in the midst of the chaos and spastic energy that inevitably infiltrates our lives.

It has been something that I have been comfortable reverting to.

But it was not always like this.

When I was a little girl, I was a boisterous one.

I talked to everyone and everything.

I would go up to strangers, and when they didn’t notice me, I would just stare at their legs and talk to those (It did not take a lot to entertain me).

I would get upset when people did not talk back to me.

One time, I even was trying to talk to a couple walking by me on the other side of a window. Of course, I did not understand the concept of a window, and how they block out noise on the other side, so I started yelling, “HEY! I TALKING YOU!” (Because I was four and did not know how to speak in full sentences either).

But somehow that confidence in myself and knowing the importance of being heard slipped away, and little by little, I sank into a comfortable hole, where no one could see or hear me, and it has taken a long time for me to dig myself out of it.

I think it was because we have experiences that change us, or the after-shock of coping with that given situation that changes us.

In my life, I have had experiences where my life was uprooted and planted in gardens where I was probably never supposed to be grown in.

These gardens were different and foreign. More importantly they were both beautiful and purposeful, but it still was not my garden.

It was someone else’s.

With their own beautiful flowers and the fruits of their own accomplishments and successes.

Their own soil delayed my own personal growth and as I tried to grow into a strong Oak, I sprouted into their own kind of tree.

And although their trees and their gardens were equally as wonderful and fertile, it was theirs just the same.

I dug my heels, and my roots, in where I was picked and planted, and somehow got so comfortable there, I forgot I had my own places to be, my own experiences to have and my own thoughts to be thought of.

I sunk myself into the ground and decided that coming up for air was too much to take.

I forgot that the wind was meant to be freeing, not dangerous.

So I remained quiet while I was uprooted.

I stayed silent as my friends sped up my seasons, not letting my own seasons come at their own pace.

Now, I am an adult and my days of growing in a confined and groomed garden are over, and it is now up to me to plant myself amongst the wild flowers and unruly trees.

It is now up to me to go to places where there are not only beautiful flowers, but where weeds sprout up as well.

Because where there is no friction, there is no growth.

And boy, do I have more growing up to do.

I am finding my footing, finding out where I need to be planted next.

I am a seed floating in the wind, but not aimlessly.

I have direction.

I have a voice.

So, I do not know where I will end up, but I am thankful for where I have been.

Because even though I had years of being silent, I also have had years of listening.

And although it took me a long time to finally use my own voice, the time let me think about all I wanted to say.

Now, when I speak it is not because I want to hear myself talk, it is because I need someone to listen to what I have to say.

Just like I have listened for all those years.

Silence is comfortable.

Silence is my happy place.

Silence is my sanctuary.

But it is time for me to speak.

And this is what I want to say...