How Survivors Are Still Being Silenced
For many survivors, the hardest part isn’t what happened back then — it’s how the after-effects play out now.
It shows up in the body:
Lips closed tight.
Throat clenched.
Words rising up from the gut only to get stuck behind the vocal cords.
It shows up online, where algorithms decide which words are allowed and which are blocked. It shows up in families, schools, and even survivor communities, where we’re told to “let it go” or “stop making people uncomfortable.”
It’s as if an invisible zipper has been fastened over our mouths, making it hard to speak and just as hard to write.
That zipper was forced on us as children, but it goes beyond childhood:
Even now, as adults, the world keeps pulling that zipper shut. Whether it’s social media bots blocking our language, institutions dismissing our pain, or even other survivors telling us to quiet down, the message is the same:
Don’t Talk About It.
And later, when we finally try to pull it open, to let our truth come out, what happens? Too often, someone — or some system — forces it shut again.
On social media, real words are flagged. Survivors are forced into code — “grape,” “unalive,” “CSA” — just to be heard. Algorithms, not people, decide whether our truth is acceptable. The zipper tightens.
In families and communities, we hear:
“Don’t dwell on the past. That’s too much information. We don’t talk about that here.”
Survivors are told keeping the peace matters more than speaking the truth. The zipper tightens.
In schools, struggling kids are called “lazy” instead of understood. In healthcare, trauma is reduced to “stress” or misdiagnosed altogether. In everyday culture, jokes trivialize what we lived through, headlines soften the truth, and rooms go quiet when we dare to speak. The zipper tightens.
And sometimes, painfully, the zipper is pulled by other survivors. Those still caught in their own silence, still too afraid to face what they’ve buried, may tell us to quiet down because our voice rattles their locked doors. It hurts — but it’s another reminder of how deep this conditioning runs.
It’s not the same as the first silencing, but it feels just as suffocating. It repeats the old pattern:
You can’t say that.
Keep it hidden.
Speak softer, or not at all.
And that’s exhausting. It’s retraumatizing. It keeps shame alive.
Because a zipped mouth doesn’t protect survivors. It protects abusers. It protects ignorance. It protects the very systems that thrive on keeping us quiet.
What we need isn’t more zippers, locks, or muted voices. We need space. We need listeners. We need allies — not just from outside, but from within the survivor community too. Because too often, we are the ones silencing each other, repeating what was done to us. True allyship means breaking that cycle, standing with each other even when the truth feels uncomfortable.
Every time a survivor tugs that zipper open — even if the words shake, even if the writing is messy — the silence weakens. Shame cracks. And another brick in the wall comes loose.
We matter. Our words matter. Our stories matter. And if you’re a survivor reading this: your voice is not too much. It is enough.
And if you’re wondering what to do with that voice—how to let it out, how to trust it, how to use it without carrying the weight alone—this is where I can help.
Your silence was never your choice, but your voice can be.
Every time you speak, the shame loses power and the cycle of silence begins to break.
If you’re ready to take that next step, I’d be honored to listen and walk beside you. Let’s start with a conversation about how you can reclaim your story, your strength, and your future.
