When Silence Becomes Survival

In my way of thinking, love should feel like safety, not footsteps that stagger at night, not words that cut deeper than fists. A wife learns silence before she learns peace, holding her tears so her child can sleep without fear. A child learns early to read moods instead of books, to hug tighter on bad days, to smile even when the house feels heavy. He calls it being a man, but a man does not drown his family in bottles and blame. A man does not break spirits and call it strength. In my way of thinking, a wife is not a dustbin for anger, and a child is not collateral damage of ego and addiction. We survive— not because we are weak, but because hope is stubborn, and love for a child is stronger than fear. One day, our laughter will be louder than his voice, our peace deeper than his chaos, and our future free. Because in my way of thinking, healing is rebellion, and choosing peace is the bravest thing a woman can do.