I regret how long I made myself understandable instead of honest

Dear Delyara, I think about how many times I softened the truth so it would be easier for other people to hear. How often I interpreted their behaviour generously while my own body was already telling me something was wrong. How much of my life I spent being reasonable in rooms where reasonableness mainly benefited people who were more comfortable than I was. I called that maturity for years. Some of it was fear. Now the regret comes in flashes — hearing another woman say no without a speech attached, seeing someone leave where I once stayed, realising how much of my own life I gave to emotional diplomacy at my own expense. I don’t only regret what was done to me. I regret the years I collaborated with my own silence.