There was a time I mostly kept quiet at work during work hours and to management — regarding work related issues, in hard moments, even when things were clearly unjust or when my heart was breaking. I stayed silent to keep the peace, to avoid ruffling feathers, to be the dependable one who didn’t rock the boat and just carried on.
But that silence, more than once, and ultimately in the end, came at the price of a life.
The day my son asked if I was coming home for lunch still lives in me. A burning ache that never fades. A wound amongst wounds that I carry every day. I told him no—I had already missed work after his car accident just days before. But something about that moment lingers deeper than words. Maybe part of me already knew. He’d been struggling for a year and a half, and my heart had been quietly bracing for what I couldn’t yet name. That exchange changed me. It reshaped how I see everything—what truly matters, what doesn’t, and how silence can steal more than sound.
For years, I thought keeping quiet was the right thing — that it showed strength, professionalism, control. Working remotely has only deepened that tendency. Most of my communication happens through email and Teams — words without tone, faces behind screens — and it’s easy to retreat, to stay small, to just keep producing.
But I’ve learned that silence doesn’t protect anyone; it just hides the truth of who you are.
So in this past year or so, I made a decision: I’m done staying quiet. My voice deserves to be heard. My feelings are valid. I hold the right to speak up and the resolve to advocate for myself when something doesn’t sit well or feels off within my work environment.
Recently, when I voiced a clear concern about my role, one of the responses I received—raw and seemingly deflective—was along the lines of, ‘Maybe it’s the way you come across that leads people to ask (someone else) instead of reaching out to you at work.’ (not verbatim). That old pressure to shrink crept in—but I didn’t give in. I spoke up with disagreement; Because if something isn’t being communicated to me, how am I to know to correct it?
I’m not that quiet person any longer. I’ve earned my voice. And if speaking up makes people uncomfortable, maybe that says more about the environment than it does about me. There’s more I could say—more that still stirs beneath the surface. You learn to pick your battles. But this moment? It won’t be filed away.
It’s disheartening, to say the least, that such a statement came from upper management—and that HR said nothing at all. That silence didn’t just echo. It reverberated through everything. And though I have found my voice, I’ve come to see that speaking up here no longer matters. It’s not worth the energy, weighed down as I am by this ongoing journey of grief and struggle—not because I’ve made peace, but because I’ve shut down. My words feel lost beneath a heap of unresolved issues.
So I’m searching. For something better. For a place that sees me and truly backs their culture. For a reason to raise my voice again—and be heard.
Daly Chronicles 