Love's Voice When It Trembles
A letter about what remains when silence begins to speak
Acceptance asks the most of us when the truth beneath it cuts through the soul.
We gather the shattered pieces not to return them where they once belonged, but to reinvent ourselves anew.
For only those who have known the breaking can understand the quiet strength of being whole.
Some letters are written not to be sent, but to give a voice to what was once silent.
This one is for every sibling, daughter, or child who learned to stay quiet in the name of peace.
It’s not about blame; it’s about giving love a voice, even when it trembles.
Dear sister,
Please know that everything I write here comes from the deepest part of my heart, written with love, honesty, and peace in my intention. What I share here is not a statement of truth but an account of my feelings.
For a long time now, I have felt our relationship resting on a surface too smooth to hold what we once shared.
I have often felt unseen, as though my side of the story dissolved somewhere in between.
Being the peacemaker assigned by birth, the youngest sibling lost in the forgetting was forced to swallow her words.
Her sisters can scold, mock, and correct, but she must stay quiet.
If she feels tears, she should stare at the ceiling until they fall back inside. Because if they fall, her sisters will ask,
“Why are you crying again? Haven’t you matured?”
When anger found you, I often became its resting place. Knowing it was never really about me, I tried not to take it personally. In return, I was never offered the same grace.
Calling me lacking in empathy, could it be you who's reflecting back what you could not yet accept in yourself?
I remember when that three-day romance with the kickboxing boy left you feeling worthless.
I spoke my mind, gently and honest.
You said I made you feel awful.
So, I stepped back, not wanting to hurt you further.
You probably still do not know but I too was carrying a burden that day.
I would give the world to have the pain that comes with fleeting love stories sadly, mine came from a deeper place.
I was struggling to make peace with Parkinson’s.
You never asked, busy accusing me of making you feel bad about yourself.
I guess, that is all right but can you please talk with the little girl screaming inside? She seems to be begging for her sisters attention, and I can’t seem to calm her down. She is scared of what’s ahead and you seem to be the only one who can soothe her with that.
Why have you asked about my words, but not about what caused my body to tremble after our last conversation? You seem to be too worried on the labels, with you self validation always came first.
I know you had a difficult childhood. My life revolved around understanding your pain. In doing so, I have learned to carry my hurt quietly, convincing myself that silence was the wiser form of love.
You say, you tried to give me a perfect, easy childhood, untouched by pain.
Your wounds were loud.
Mine were silent.
Maybe that’s why you became indifferent towards my pain.
Every time you noticed that our mother showed me more affection, I guilt bloomed in me. A childhood spent in struggle, trying to be seen by my sisters while hiding my mother’s affection from them, turning away from my mother’s warmth so that no one would say,
“Why does she get to be treated in a special way?”
Well sister, I’m a decade younger than you, remember!
Instead of saying those words, I lost my voice in countless ways.
Growing up the learning stayed, I wasn’t worthy of love if I didn’t deserve my significant other’s in the first place.
There is a moment that has never left me yet, I have always comforted myself by saying it was not you, but that your wound was speaking:
“Why is she standing there? I don’t want her here.”
I only wanted to hug you, to bring comfort while you were in tears.
I couldn’t tell you then, I was too scared of being shouted at.
Still, the look in your eyes, the words that you said, turned into the echoes that never faded everyday, since I was five.
