When Silence Feels Safe

When Speaking Up Feels Like Shouting into the Wind - or Worse

For the better part of five years, I’ve chosen to share my thoughts, beliefs, opinions, and personal experiences online. Sometimes these shares were very personal - reflections on life, motherhood, creativity, healing. Other times, they were philosophical, observational, or deeply emotional. I’ve written about joy, heartbreak, loss, self-doubt, mental health challenges, and growth. I’ve posted poetry, stories, and the occasional rant. And for the most part, those posts lived quiet lives. They were met with small nods of acknowledgement, the odd comment, a like here or there. More often than not, they sank into the ever-scrolling void with barely a ripple.

That never really bothered me. I wasn’t, and am not, writing for numbers or validation. I share because it helps me make sense of the world. Because sometimes, saying something aloud - even into a digital space - helps you stand by it more firmly. And maybe, just maybe, someone would stumble upon it and feel less alone in their own experience. I write to contribute, to connect, to process, and to invite dialogue.

But recently, something shifted.

I began writing about politics - not as an expert or provocateur, but again, as a person trying to make sense of the world around me. I shared based on my beliefs grounded in my values, my research, my lived experiences, and what I’ve come to understand about history, power, justice, and human nature. I’ve tried to approach these conversations with sincerity and nuance. I’ve tried to be thoughtful, respectful, and open to dialogue.

And for the first time, my posts did not go unnoticed - one in particular.

“Staying quiet to keep the peace is a good way to start a war inside yourself.” - unknown

But instead of thoughtful discussion, I was met with an avalanche of reactions - a wave of vitriol: anger, accusations, mockery and more than a few attempts to question my character or motives. People I’ve not spoken to in years, or haven’t even met, have questioned my morality, my intelligence, and my intentions. Some clearly didn’t read the entire post and quickly assigned an entire ideology to me, one I don’t actually hold. Others dismissed my experiences, assumed the worst of me, or responded with sarcasm and contempt.

I’ve never received so much feedback. And I’ve never felt so discouraged by it.

It’s been jarring. Not because I expected everyone to agree - I didn’t. I don’t. Disagreement is inevitable. It’s even necessary. And I welcome it as it brings dialogue, discussion, connection, and an opportunity to learn. But I suppose I expected people to disagree like humans. Like adults. Like people who understand that we’re all navigating this moment in history with incomplete, or different, information and heavy hearts.

Instead, I’ve seen how quickly disagreement can become dehumanization. How easily people go from “I don’t agree with you” to “You are dangerous,” “You are a traitor to your country,” “You’re a part of the problem,” or “You’re a baby-killing, racist.”

The polarization we’re witnessing - not just in politics, but in culture, community, and even friendships - is deeply troubling. We’re not disagreeing anymore. We’re assuming the worst. We’re shouting over one another with an urgency that suggests any opposition is an existential threat.

And I’ll be honest: it makes me want to hide.

There’s a very real part of me that wants to deactivate all my accounts, unpublish my blog, pull the curtains closed, and keep my thoughts to myself. Not because I’m ashamed of what I believe - I’m not - but because I’m tired. Tired of the way the internet can flatten people. Tired of being misunderstood. Tired of the way the algorithms reward outrage and punish nuance. Tired of trying to speak from a place of good faith and being met with hostility from people who assume I must be speaking from the worst of intentions.

How do we hold space for nuance in a world that demands binaries? How do we share in good faith when faith in one another seems to be at an all-time low? How do we keep our voices honest and open without becoming targets? Do we remain ignorant - burying our heads in the sand because we don’t want to be a part of it? Or do we aim to keep informed, but only for and to ourselves - hiding for fear of anyone’s reaction to our beliefs, thoughts, or opinions?

But here’s the thing I keep circling back to: hiding is the exact opposite of what I believe is needed right now.

We are living in an extraordinarily divisive time. I know people say that a lot, and it sounds like a tired refrain. But look around. People are severing lifelong friendships over differing views. Families are struggling to communicate. People are self-censoring to avoid conflict. And online, it’s a minefield - where even a gentle opinion can trigger a firestorm of rage.

What worries me most isn’t just the polarization. It’s the pressure to pick a side and stay there, loudly and without question. It’s the way we’ve replaced curiosity with certainty. It’s the absence of grace. The assumption that those who disagree must be ignorant, malicious, or brainwashed.

How are we supposed to build bridges when the only tools we’re handed are megaphones and matchsticks?

I don’t have a clear answer. I wish I did. I wish I had a clear way forward - some tidy conclusion or practical advice. But all I have is this conflicted heart, this desire to be honest, and this belief - however battered - that speaking truth matters, even when it’s hard.

So no, I won’t be disappearing.

I may pause. I may rethink how and when I engage. I may protect my peace by being more selective with what I share and where. But I won’t stop thinking deeply. I won’t stop speaking carefully. I won’t stop believing in the power of conversation - real conversation - the kind where people actually listen to each other, challenge each other, and grow.

Because if people like me - people who care, who try, who question, who feel - go quiet, what kind of space are we leaving behind? Who gets to shape the narrative then?

Maybe you’ve felt this too. Maybe you’ve posted something recently that invited more fury than you expected. Maybe you’ve swallowed your thoughts for fear of what others might say. Maybe you’re walking on eggshells, exhausted, unsure how to show up as your full self in a world so ready to pounce.

Let’s not disappear. Let’s rest when we need to, protect our hearts, and keep doing the brave work of staying human in a time that often seems to forget how. Because if we only listen to the loudest voices, we miss out on so much.

Ⓒ April 2025. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.