The Suffering I Refused to Inherit

Some generations inherit wealth. Others inherit traditions, expectations, and wounds. I inherited the suffering, but I refused to pass it on.

There are nights when I close my eyes, hoping to sleep, but my memories have other plans.

Words spoken years ago suddenly return. Conversations I thought I had moved beyond begin playing in my mind again. Sometimes, I remember just one sentence, and it is enough to keep me awake for hours. Other times, those memories follow me to work, steal my concentration, and leave me wondering where my mind has gone.

The people who said those words may have forgotten them. They may not even remember the conversations. But I remember how they made me feel.

Some wounds do not bleed, and some words never disappear. They settle somewhere deep inside us and wait for the quiet moments to remind us that they are still there.

I have often wondered why people do not think before speaking. Why choose words that can hurt someone when silence would have been kinder?

Simple words can become devastating when hatred and the intention to hurt are wrapped around them.

Tonight, writing these thoughts helps release some of the tightness in my chest. Perhaps this is one reason I have always wanted to write a book. I never…