Silence Never Saved Me
The Question in The Bathroom
She always preferred to have the bright vanity lights on in the bathroom, but being the vampire that I am, I preferred they remained off while we got ready for bed. There was something so harsh and unnerving about bright lights.
I opened the drawer and reached for the floss. Grabbing one end, I began to pull, then cut it with the dull blade embedded in the case. I wrapped one end of the floss around my finger and then the other.
Looking up in the mirror I saw Ariana looking at me. There was an unfamiliar look on her face. Her eyes scrunched. My hands began to sweat, the floss slipping as my heart thumped louder.
I searched my brain, looking for any infraction that might have upset her. There was none to find.
"Oh no, has her cancer spread again? That's what it is, it must be."
The silence grew heavy. I nodded my head in a way that said, "Yea? What is it?"
Her mouth finally opened:
“Do you ever feel like the walls are falling down around you? That everyone you care about is getting sick?”
Denial and Defensiveness
I stopped flossing, my hands still in the air and the floss caught between my teeth.
Okay, it's not the cancer, but do I feel that way?
Through the floss I mumbled out, "No."
“Really? I think you’re lying to yourself," she challenged.
My hands dropped to the counter, floss still stuck in my teeth.
It was an honest answer. Sure, two people I care about are battling cancer. But I’m not special. My life isn’t any harder than anyone else's. I'm strong. I can handle this.
“I don’t know, babe. I think I’m doing okay." My voice was less confident this time.
“You’re not doing okay, but whatever,” she said, heading to bed.
"Denial isn't failure. It's survival."
The Walls Begin to Crack
My stomach knotted. I crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling while Ariana scrolled on her phone.
I am okay. Right? I mean, I'm strong. I can handle her and my dad dying. I can't believe she called me out like that.
I squeezed my eyes closed, hoping it would shut out the thoughts and the light from Ariana's bedside lamp.
It didn't.
The thoughts spun faster. I tossed back and forth until I finally jumped out of bed.
“Ok, fine. Whatever." I snapped.
"Maybe the walls are crumbling around me, but I can’t stop thinking about us both dying–that by some anti-miracle we both go and the kids are left alone. Or that I have to raise them on my own. That I'll have to crawl into bed without you. That I'll wake up every morning thinking it was a nightmare."
I paused. She stayed silent.
“And now my dad has cancer too? What the hell am I supposed to do with this? How am I supposed to feel?”
Ariana's Truth
“CJ, I knew you weren’t okay. Why lie to me? Why lie to yourself?” She asked.
“Because you’re already carrying so much. If I tell you how scared and broken I am, it only adds to your burden. I can’t live without you, but I don’t want to put that weight on you.” I cried.
“I’ve made peace with dying. I know you haven’t. It doesn’t help me if you hide the truth.”
“I know. But I keep trying to convince myself this pain has a purpose. That maybe we’re supposed to help others. That maybe my dad is the first person we’ll get to help.”
I sighed and slid back into bed.
“I know,” Ariana said softly. “I’m scared for you too. I can’t imagine being in your shoes. I’m glad I’m the one leaving, because I couldn’t live without you.”
We hugged.
“Goodnight, babe. I love you.” She said.
“I love you too.”
She turned off the light. I closed my eyes and finally fell asleep.
Lessons in Survival and Strength
The insistence that I was okay wasn’t denial of the truth. It was survival. It was the only way I could keep moving when everything felt impossible.
Holding it together in the most extreme situations often requires a little delusion. It's not weakness. It's being human.
But real strength came when I finally cracked. When I let the fear spill out instead of swallowing it.
Silence never saved me. Admitting “I can’t do this alone” did.
That’s where the intimacy lives. That's where the people who love you finally get to meet the real you.
Isolation builds walls. Honesty breaks them down.
So if you wake up every day trying to convince others you’re fine when you’re not, it doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human, buying yourself time.
And when you finally let the cracks show? That isn’t the end of your strength. That’s the beginning of it.
Sometimes the most healing thing you can do is stop pretending and let someone hold the mess.
You don’t need to move on. You don’t even need to hold it together. Let yourself fall apart. Then notice the pieces that are worth picking back up.
- CJ
If you want to read more stories like this one, my book Torn Pages From a Broken Heart tell's the raw and messy truth of life in grief. It's the truest thing I’ve written.
What moments have you felt like the walls were caving in? What helped you through it?
If you enjoyed this read, the best compliment I could receive would be if you shared it with one person or restacked it.
Good to see you writing again, CJ. I'm currently dealing with something entirely different but applicable in practice. Silence is such a powerful tool for self protection, self preservation, and also denial, often with the pretense of good intentions. It's really humbling to be this old and still have to learn (and practice) this stuff.