As someone who didn’t grow up being heard and understood, I always wish that someday, just for once, before I die, I wish that I will experience being heard and understood.
I grew up in a house who believes that voicing out my feelings to someone especially to those who are older than me is an act of disrespect. I grew up in a house where I learned that speaking my mind was seen as disapproval. I grew up in a house where I never felt validated and heard.
So growing up, I learned to keep everything to myself, afraid to receive judgements from others, afraid to disappoint everyone who has high expectations in me, without knowing, that I am slowly making myself imprisoned by my unheard thoughts.
This silence has been with me for too long to the point that it became my comfort when the chaos seemed so loud, it became my warmth in the coldness of reality of life. This silence is my best friend.
But somewhere deepest in my life, there’s still a part of me that wonders how it feels to be heard, a part of me that still craves to be understood. To have someone who notices my silence, To know someone who appreciates my thoughts and someone who never invalidates me — to have someone who still sees the beauty in me even when I’m in my silence.
To be heard and understood — that’s all I want. But why does it seem so hard for me to experience?
