I Won't Stay Silent Anymore

I don’t usually write about current events. Not because I’m not interested, but because I’m careful. I’ve learned that reacting fast doesn’t always mean reacting wisely. Still, what’s been unfolding lately wouldn’t leave me alone. It’s been sitting in my body.  This week it tipped over into something visceral. I literally got sick. And at some point, staying quiet stopped feeling like restraint and started feeling like self-betrayal. So I’m writing this slowly, thoughtfully, and on purpose.

There are moments when staying quiet feels polite.
And moments when staying quiet feels like permission.

I’ve been teetering on that invisible line for a while now.

I’m not interested in adding to the chaos or fueling more division. God knows there’s been too much of that. But there are lines that, once crossed, must be called out. 

Violence against human beings is wrong.
So is dehumanization.
So is the abuse of power.
And so is the slow erosion of basic human dignity.

None of this is political. It’s moral.

I’m watching violence and dehumanization get justified in ways that turn my stomach.

It’s heartbreaking.

It’s infuriating.

And pretending otherwise doesn’t make us wise or make it okay. It just makes us numb. Or afraid. Or overly invested in staying comfortable.

I’m not interested in comfort anymore.

I am interested in responsibility.

I’ve spent much of my life teaching, leading, and serving within systems. I’ve seen how easily people are trained to stay quiet “for the greater good,” to keep their heads down in the name of stability. I’ve watched silence get rewarded as professionalism, maturity, or being a “team player.”

I also know what that kind of silence costs.

Over time, silence hardens into habit.
Habit hardens into complicity.
And complicity always tells itself a story about being reasonable. 

I’m not willing to tell that story anymore. 

I’m not willing to pretend that everything is just another difference of opinion. Some things aren’t debatable. Some things ask something more of us than staying comfortable or agreeable.

This isn’t a call for outrage. I don’t trust outrage very much. It burns hot and fast and rarely builds anything lasting.

But anger - real anger - is different.

The kind that rises when something inside you says, “This is NOT okay.”

That kind of anger isn’t destructive by nature. It’s informative. It tells us exactly where our values live.

The danger isn’t anger.
The danger is what we do with it.

I’ve learned this the hard way.

Anger can harden you. It can exhaust you.
Or, if you let it, it can clarify you.

It can clarify what you’ll stand for.

What you won’t excuse. How you want to live in a world that doesn’t always live up to its own ideals

You don’t have to watch every clip, read every article, or argue every point to be a good or caring person. There is a real difference between being informed and being flooded. Your nervous system matters. Your mental health matters.

At the same time, opting out of everything because it’s uncomfortable isn’t wisdom either. Sometimes it’s avoidance dressed up as self-care. And that’s not a judgment, just an invitation to be honest with ourselves.

Many of us were taught early to smooth things over. To stay pleasant. To not rock the boat. To keep the peace even when the peace was false. Those lessons run deep, and they don’t disappear just because we’re older or supposedly wiser.

But neither does our capacity for integrity.

Taking a stand doesn’t require shouting. It doesn’t require cruelty. It doesn’t require having the perfect words or the full picture.

It does require refusing to normalize harm.
Refusing to pretend that violence is just another opinion.
And refusing to hide behind civility when what’s being asked of us is conscience.

At some point, you have to decide where your non-negotiables live.

Here are mine, stated simply:

Human lives are not disposable.

No group of people deserves to be dehumanized or erased.

Power should be accountable.

And silence in the face of clear harm is not a virtue.

You may live those values quietly or publicly. Through conversations, boundaries, choices, donations, or actions that no one ever sees. There is no single right way to stand.

But there is a responsibility to decide where you stand.

In my work and in my community, I want to make room for people to speak from their values without being attacked or coerced. I also want to be honest about my own. That balance matters to me.

It means I will name wrongdoing when I see it. I’m not going to look the other way.

And, it also means I won’t participate in cruelty, dehumanization, or performative outrage disguised as debate.  

Both of those things can be true.

If you’re feeling angry, heartbroken, tired, or unsettled right now, you’re not weak. You’re paying attention. This world can be brutal, and pretending otherwise doesn’t make us better humans.

What matters…maybe more than anything…is how we stay human inside it.

For me, that looks like speaking when silence feels like betrayal. It looks like choosing carefully what I take in…and put out there. It looks like staying grounded in the things that keep me from hardening…nature, connection, writing, reflection.

And it looks like refusing to outsource my conscience to comfort.

I don’t expect agreement from everyone. I do expect myself to live in alignment with what I believe, even when it’s uncomfortable.

That’s what responsibility looks like to me.

That’s where I stand.

Love is ALL there is,

Diana