Debby Does…

When I was a toddler, I thought that the sign for “Shhh” involved sticking my index finger up my nose and saying, “SSSSSSS,” an anecdote my mom loved to tell.

I have never been known for my silence. People always exclaimed about my chattiness to my mom. Sometimes even she tired of it, begging for peace from my constant prattling.

I have a lot to say and I say a lot.

Over the past few weeks, as our packing grows more intense and our time here grows short, I have not had a lot to say. I find myself unable to fully express myself. My thoughts are plentiful, but when it comes to putting them into words, I’ve got very little. My tears flow freely; love swells in my heart; and there are also some misgivings and hurt feelings. Still, I just don’t feel like writing it all down and telling the story. And, I definitely do not want this time to be about confrontations.

I guess, with age, I am growing comfortable with the art of silence, or, at the very least, the art of saying less.

Our move has been the source of excitement, sadness, anger, and disbelief for those around us. The most sincere emotion seems to be the combination of being thrilled for us, but also being sad, knowing that they will miss us. Interestingly, there have also been those who have simply walked away from us. I presume we no longer offer anything they need, so they’ve moved on to someone who can provide a service. I might be wrong about a few of those, but I’m pretty sure about most.

I’ve considered pointing it out, saying something, expressing how I feel about their absence from the last leg of our journey. And, yet, I have not. I used to tear into people via email or letter, and sometimes in person, about these perceived slights. No more. I just don’t have that energy anymore. Plus, I am committed to the idea that people are doing the best that they can, and this is their best. I just have to accept that and move forward with my life. I may not exert as much energy on their behalf anymore, but I am not taking up valuable emotional space with bitter feelings.

Years ago, I did a production of Footloose, where I sang a song with two other women called, “Learning to Be Silent.” I thought it was the dumbest song. Learning to be silent? I think not. Seen and not heard? Nope. Knowing my place? Never! I have things to say and people should hear them.

Trust me. It’s cost me, more than a few times, but I’ve never been sorry, if it was the right thing to do. I’m talking to you Miss New Jersey 1994. If it was in support of the good fight and the good cause, I’m saying it. I always have. Now, if its only purpose is to sting and hurt, I have learned to be silent. If it makes someone feel like less than they are, mum’s the word. Words are powerful, and I can wield them in vicious ways. I want to choose them carefully and combine them in ways that uplift and bring about resolution and love.

Do I always get it right? Nope. Sometimes that little swell of anger that filled my soul as a pre-teenager comes flying out of my mouth and apologies must be made. The biggest difference is how quickly I get to the making amends part. I guess that’s proof of emotional evolution!

Look, Ma! I’ve evolved!

I think one of the most valuable qualities I had as a teacher was not holding a grudge, but I think I undervalued how many times I was silent, avoiding confrontation, refusing condescension. Those skills serve me well, if not better, as a friend, a colleague, and, most definitely, as a partner to my husband.

You don’t always need to know what I’m thinking. I don’t always need to tell you that you’re wrong and I’m right. I can trust in the value, importance, and, quite honestly, the compassion of being silent. Sometimes, it’s what we all need.

In case you needed a visual…