I didn’t notice it at first. How my voice got quieter. How my feelings waiting in line behind everyone else. It wasn’t one big betrayal. It was the slow, steady habit of letting myself shrinking so no one else had to feel uncomfortable. I have mastered the art of biting my tongue until it bleeds. Of smiling through the hurt. Of telling myself “It’s not worth the fight.” Even when it is worth every word I never said. I have traded honesty for harmony so many times. I have forgotten what my own voice sounds like without fear.

The Quietest Kind of Sabotage

There is a type of emotional sabotage that does not look like destruction. It doesn’t scream, slam doors or end things abruptly. It whispers : “It’s fine. Let it go.” It looks like swallowing the words you should have said. Excusing the behavior that chipped away at you. I called it “empathy”. For years I thought I was being kind. Understanding. Patient. But really, I was abandoning myself. Over and over again. All in the name of keeping the peace.

When someone hurt me, my mind went straight to the why behind the action. “They didn’t mean it.” “They are going through a hard time.” “It isn’t that big of a deal.” I convinced myself that this was me being compassionate. The truth is, it made me disappear. If I explained why someone’s actions were hurtful, it somehow made them feel less hurtful. Less intentional. That story was easier to hold than the reality that someone I care for crossed a line.

“Empathy without boundaries is not kindness. It is self-abandonment.”

Empathy is beautiful. It is human. But empathy without boundaries is not kindness. It is self-abandonment. It’s me, standing in the ruins of my own peace, saying “But look, I understand why they did this.” It is allowing my understanding of someone’s pain to excuse the pain they caused me. Here is what I learned the hard way. When you habitually rank understanding others over protecting yourself, you are teaching yourself that your own needs don’t matter.

The Cost of Letting Hurt Go Unhealed

I let hurt go unhealed for years because it was easier than confrontation. I told myself I was just “choosing my battles.” What I was actually choosing was avoidance.

The cost?

• I became hyper aware of others’ moods and completely out of touch with my own.
• I learned to ignore my instincts.
• I started believing that my pain was negotiable. That I was negotiable.

Every time I stayed silent. I looked the other way often. Each time, I reinforced the belief that being “easy to love” was more important than being true to myself. I chipped away at my peace little by little. Peace built on silence is not peace. It’s pressure. I was a pressure cooker. Pretending everything is fine until the weight of what was left unspoken cracked me open. I thought avoiding conflict meant safety. I was brought up thinking conflict was the enemy. But conflict is not the enemy here, dishonesty is. Every time I bit my tongue, I was being dishonest with myself and the other person.

“Every time I stayed silent, I taught myself that my pain was negotiable.”

I am slowly learning that boundaries do not make me cold. They make me clear. Not all conflict is danger, and not every hard conversation leads to loss. Do I want to still be kind? Of course. I also want to be honest. I want to be soft, but not at the cost of being seen. I want to extend empathy, but not as an excuse for someone to keep hurting me.

Still Learning to Choose Myself

I wish I can say that I have this all figured out. That I have drawn my lines in the sand and never allow them to be crossed. The truth is, I am still learning.

I am learning to give myself permission to set boundaries without guilt. I am learning to believe that my feelings are not overreactions, but signals. I am learning that protecting my peace does not make me unkind. It makes me whole. It is a process, unlearning years of thoughts that told me silence was safer than truth. I still catch myself slipping back into old habits. Some days I recognize it, pause, and remind myself that empathy is a gift. But it isn’t a debt I owe at the cost of myself.

I am learning to hear my own voice again. At first, it was barely a whisper, unsure if it even deserved space in the room. But each time I speak up, even when my words shake, I am reminded that they still matter. I still matter. After years of silencing myself to protect others. I am slowly unlearning the belief that my truth is too heavy, too inconvenient, too much. My voice is coming back, not loud, not flawless, but honest. And that honesty is worth more than the false peace I used to trade it for.