There’s a kind of silence that feels like peace.
And then there’s the kind that sits in your chest like a stone.
I used to think I was being “mature” by staying quiet.
Letting things slide. Smiling through moments that didn’t sit right.
Picking my battles — or more honestly, avoiding them altogether.
It’s easy to tell yourself that you’re just keeping the peace.
That you’re being the bigger person.
That speaking up would only make things worse.
And sometimes, that’s true.
But not always.
Over time, I started noticing something:
the more I swallowed my discomfort, the harder it became to recognize it.
The more I said “it’s fine,” the less I believed it.
I’d walk away from conversations replaying what I could have said.
What I should have said.
But didn’t.
Because I didn’t want to sound “too emotional” or “too sensitive” or — god forbid — difficult.
There’s a cost to that kind of politeness.
You pay for it in quiet resentment, in disconnection, in the slow erosion of honesty.
And the people around you — the ones you’re trying so hard not to upset —
they don’t always benefit from your silence.
Sometimes, they just grow used to a version of you that isn’t real.
I read a piece recently that hit me hard.
It was called “Why Being Overly Polite Can Ruin a Relationship”,
and it said everything I’d been circling around for years but never put into words.
The core idea was this:
Politeness without honesty is performance.
And relationships built on performance — even if they look “nice” on the outside — aren’t truly safe.
I think about how many times I chose to keep the temperature down instead of turning on the light.
How many chances I missed to connect — really connect — because I didn’t want to risk discomfort.
But here’s what I’ve learned (or am still learning):
Discomfort isn’t the enemy.
Disconnection is.
And sometimes, the way back to connection is through awkwardness, not around it.
These days, I try to check in with myself before staying quiet.
Am I being kind, or just agreeable?
Am I choosing silence because it’s wise — or because it’s easy?
There’s a difference between calm and suppression.
Between grace and avoidance.
The people who matter can handle a little friction.
And if they can’t — that says something, too.
I’m not saying we should be blunt or cruel.
But there’s room between silence and aggression — a whole space where honesty can live.
Where “I don’t agree” doesn’t have to mean “I don’t care.”
Where “that hurt me” doesn’t have to mean “you’re a bad person.”
It just means we’re real.
It means we trust each other enough to speak.
And that, to me, feels more respectful than silence ever did.
Written after a conversation I almost avoided — but didn’t.