Yesterday was her birthday. I didn’t say anything. For the past four years, after my revelation, after the instant that brought forth this healing and opened my eyes to the truth about my family, I scrambled for her. I sought out the perfect card with just the right words, a poem, song lyrics, my own words, anything to get her to see how much I love her, how much I wanted her to heal with me, to have a real relationship for the first time ever. A relationship of mutual respect and love and trust. But she never saw. I’m not sure she can. Her story about her unworthiness is too strong. It shoots down every arrow of love before it can get close to piercing her heart. I can hear the voices, for I once was one of them. “How can you not say ‘Happy Birthday’ to your mother? They’re just two words, why can’t you just send her a card?” I used to be one of those people who judged those who had chosen to walk away because I used to think it was a choice.

Now I know that for those of us who have tried, really tried to get through to our dysfunctional family members and it didn’t work out, we have no choice. When we paint an arrowhead with words of love and truth and healing and send it through the air in the hopes that it will pierce their inner being into awakening they don’t simply shoot the arrow down. They paint its tip with darkness and throw it back at us. Keeping a dialogue of small talk open with my toxic family helps no one. If you take away all the BS we aren’t even speaking. Why put my energy into that when I can talk to people who will actually listen. It is not out of malice that I no longer bother with the cards, the calls, the texts. It’s not a punishment to “get back” at anyone for what “they did” to me. In all honesty it’s a surrender. My silence is a white flag that says “enough.” I see that you won’t change and so I walk away because your poison cannot be in my life any longer. My words are as effective as if I were standing in a hurricane and shouting them into the wind. They are not heard and my throat is raw and bleeding from screaming for so long. No, do not mistake my silence for hatred, for revenge, for being unkind. My silence is an end to the battle I’ve been fighting with you my entire life. My silence is the loudest voice I have. My silence is a recognition that no words can get through to you in this life. My silence is a turning towards those who truly hear, truly love. I can whisper “happy birthday” to you in my heart. But I’m done speaking. Now it’s time for silence.