The Silent Scream

By Susan Esther Barnes

Over the last year and a half, I have become a regular blogger. I write down whatever moves me, and post it for all to see. And over time, although not huge in number, my readership has grown in an encouraging way.

I did not realize how spoiled I was becoming. I have gotten used to being able to post about whatever moves me; about whatever I discover about myself and my world. This transparency, this not holding back of what is inside, has helped me to grow in confidence about myself and the inherent “okayness” of the person who is me.

It was a bit jarring, then, to discover in the last few weeks that this freedom I have been taking for granted is not as limitless as I had imagined. A couple of things have happened about which I cannot, in good conscience, post, since doing so would hurt other people.

I know I can write about these things, and then save what I write in a private place, or discard it, without risking the harm I wish to avoid. However, doing so still would not fulfill what I have become accustomed to, namely, not holding back in my blog, not covering up, not avoiding that which is hard to admit or discuss.

So despite the other options that may be available to me, what I am left with still feels a bit like a silent scream.