Inherited Silence
For every woman who was taught to stay, even when it hurt.
I was never given the unscripted version of the handbook on healthy relationships and what they looked like. What I was gifted… was an edited version passed down from my mother and aunties. The few harsh truths that would ruin the fairy tale had been erased. Perhaps this was the reason I ignorantly ignored the glaring red flags in my marriage.
It was my very first relationship after enrolling at the university, a feat that made me feel highly accomplished and mature. I was no longer the sheltered girl who made my mother and aunties uncomfortable with questions about men and relationships.
I had evolved into a young woman, ready to explore and grab the answers through lived experience. Which I did and ended up turning that phase of my life into a cautionary tale.
A story of what went wrong, when you willfully had a relationship with a manipulative, controlling partner and decided to make excuses for each hurtful behavior because you mistook tolerance for submission.
I did not know better; how was I expected to do better? I hadn’t looked at the full handbook. I did not know the right qualities to look for in a life partner, and the gut-wrenching truth was I wore my ignorance like a badge of honor.
We all do, the cultured girls. The ones whose mothers, aunties, and grandmas proudly call home trained, Wife material in the making. You learnt how to cook and clean, how to fast and pray for your home, and how a submissive wife kept a long marriage. This part of the handbook was comfortable to pass down from generation to generation of well-intentioned relatives.
But when the fairy tale ended, you started noticing things that went against your values. The old handbook reared its head again. The guidelines, clear as day, be submissive. That was code for do not question, even when he strays or makes bad decisions that affect you both. When he lashes out, be silent. He does this to offer you guidance.
This handbook was there to ensure you had a long marriage; whether it was a happy and comfortable one was never high on the list of priorities. But how could I blame them? It was what our grandmothers, mothers, and aunties knew about marriage. It was how they were raised.
Groomed to base all your value and identity on your marital status. They passed down what they knew with good intentions and love.
The handbook never talked about boundaries, and what you should do when they are constantly being violated. It never disclosed the importance of self-respect in a marriage, and how crucial it was to have your own identity despite being in a relationship.
No, either that page had been ripped out, or it had not yet been written.
I wear the same discomfort my mother and the ones before her wore, every time my teenage daughter comes to me with questions about intimacy, relationship dynamics, and identity.
In those moments, I empathize with her. I get to experience a sliver of what she felt each time I brought up similar topics. The coarseness of this discomfort rubs against my skin. It lingers until I remind myself that if my daughter does not know better, she cannot do better.
So, I tear it off, get my pen, and add to the handbook. But this time I am adding all the things I’m learning along the way, topics once considered taboo, like a person who genuinely loves you will respect your values and boundaries. You have to know, love, and accept yourself first before you can show others how you should be treated.
If we fail to learn this, we will end up choosing the wrong partners, staying too long in toxic relationships, doing penance for someone at the cost of our peace, health, and deliberately turning a blind eye to things that break us.
Memorizing the whole handbook is key to knowing which connections are worth fighting for and which ones are bridges waiting to be burnt.
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