I regret how often I called self-erasure maturity

Dear Delyara, I was so good at it. Being calm. Being understanding. Giving the benefit of the doubt. Staying quiet a little longer. Explaining things to myself more kindly on behalf of the people hurting me than I ever explained my own pain to myself. I told myself I was being wise. Sometimes I was simply abandoning myself in very articulate language. That regret comes in flashes now. Watching another woman say no without apology. Hearing someone leave a job I once would have stayed in for years. Seeing younger women protect themselves in ways I was taught not to. I don’t only regret what happened to me. I regret the years I spent helping it continue by naming it too softly and enduring it too beautifully. That is a painful inheritance to examine honestly. I’m trying.