When you have waited for something for so long that the wait feels endless and exhausting, an angel called “Waiting Deception” begins to whisper. It whispers that the caution you once believed was wisdom was actually pride. Suddenly, you begin to wonder how saying an obvious no—something your faith and morals once resisted—now feels normal. It is the same voice that convinced my friend, who had been trusting God for the fruit of the womb, that her abusive ex must have been her soulmate—simply because he now has three children, despite inflicting domestic violence on his wife. Perhaps, the voice suggested, motherhood would have softened the blows, made them lighter, easier to bear. It is the whisper that draws your attention to the speed of your ticking biological clock and reminds you—mercilessly—of the boxes of expected dreams you have not been able to tick. It exaggerates your shame, spotlights your failures, and tells you where—and when—not to show up. Slowly, it silences you until ...
This is the pattern of emotional suppression: You grew up learning to swallow every thought, every emotion, including those inflicted by the adults around you. You were alone, somewhere in the euphoria of heaven, playing and having conversations you never truly understood, yet they soothed your soul and brought you genuine peace—until your parents chose to engage in combat. It was a struggle that was sometimes sweet, rough, or enjoyable; you couldn't really tell. Or perhaps it was the kind of combat where only one person took wicked pleasure while the other wailed in pain and shame. It wasn't until you grew up, gaining a bit of sense, that your "rabies- infested mouth" aunty blurted out the truth: you were a child born out of rape. That was when your emotions locked down, knowing you couldn't be claimed, that your identity was nothing more than shame, anxiety, and a long trajectory of trauma. You choked on your pitiable...