Shut Up and Thrive: My Counterintuitive Path To Personal Power

How Embracing Selective Silence Transformed My Mental Health When Over-Communication Was Destroying It

Photograph by Lukáš Dlutko

I spent years believing that finding my voice would save me—as if the perfect arrangement of words could heal all wounds and bridge every misunderstanding.

After getting expelled from college, I poured myself into writing because it gave me the chance to speak my full, raw truth without fear of judgment. It was healing to finally articulate all the things I'd kept bottled up inside. 

Writing became my salvation—my way of reclaiming myself from a lifetime of feeling misunderstood. Through written words, I could cut through others' projections and assumptions. I found clarity in iPhone notes, empty Google docs, and gently worn journals. The world felt less lonely when I could finally express myself.

But here's what surprised me: the real power isn't in speaking up—it's in knowing when to stay silent.

As I found my voice, the pendulum swung too far. I developed a "the more, the better" mentality, believing that maximum communication was the antidote to my lifelong feeling of being misunderstood. My anxiety pushed me into over-explaining, over-communicating, and over-articulating my thoughts to the point of emotional exhaustion. I took it upon myself to ensure everyone understood me perfectly. If they didn't, I blamed myself and tried harder to "win them over."

I became an expert at being likeable—but I didn't like myself. The dissonance seeped into every relationship. I surrounded myself with people who expected me to justify my existence, who couldn't or wouldn't accept the parts of me that didn't serve their needs. The people pleaser inside me was running the show, and that people pleaser wasn't qualified to make choices for me.

Deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.

There's a difference between the relief of acknowledging an inconvenient truth and the tension of holding onto a more palatable lie.

Half-truths might cover up pain like comfortable band-aids, but they don't heal wounds—they tie you to the moments you're trying to escape instead of freeing you to move forward.

When I began to embrace selective silence—when I learned that I don't need to explain myself to everyone—I found something more powerful than expression. I found discernment in the spaces between words. I found boundaries in the power of pause. I found myself in the sanctuary of silence.

I don't over-explain myself as often now, nor chase after people who show no interest in my friendship. Most importantly, I don't feel an uncontrollable obligation to justify myself to people who are committed to misunderstanding me.

The irony is that after spending my whole life trying to be understood, I've found freedom in letting go of that need entirely. The true power wasn't in finding my voice—it was in using it selectively and sometimes, not using it at all.

For years, I approached life as an urgent, never-ending self-improvement project. But I was trying to "build a better version of myself" at my own expense. I was burnt out and beat up, absorbing messages about hard work and hustle without any context about patience or self-care.

Now I understand that silence can be more powerful than speech. Not speaking up can sometimes be a greater act of self-love than any amount of self-expression. When you stop explaining yourself to people who are determined to misunderstand you, you reclaim your energy for the connections that truly matter. 

The people pleaser inside of you has this all backward—risking your safety to avoid conflict, drowning out your inner voice with external noise, falling silent precisely when boundaries demand defense, and ironically, continuing to talk when all you need is peace.

You have to choose.

You have to decide that you're worth protecting—because if you refuse to trust your own discernment and set your own boundaries, you will set yourself up for unnecessary suffering.

If you can't tell anybody else "no," you'll run out of energy to tell yourself "yes."

Sometimes our intrusive thoughts and deepest fears compel us to speak when silence would serve us better. When these thoughts take over, we forget that we are not our fears or past traumas—we are present beings with the power to choose differently, including the choice to remain silent.

I'm finding the people who can make space for the fullness of who I am. I'm building deeper relationships with people who make me feel comfortable existing in my own skin. And sometimes, that means choosing silence—not because I can't speak, but because I'm finally secure enough to know that I don’t have to.

When you're honest with yourself, the healing begins. And sometimes, the most honest thing you can do is close your mouth, open your heart, and simply be present—without explaining, without justifying, without the exhausting effort of making yourself understood.

This is the liberation of silence. This is the power of knowing when to hold your tongue. This is the freedom that comes when you finally realize that not everyone deserves access to your story.

As I continue my journey, I'm no longer seeking universal understanding. I'd much rather find authentic connection. 

I'm cultivating relationships where both my voice and my silence are equally honored—where I can speak my truth without explanation or apology, and where I can rest in the quiet spaces between words, secure in the knowledge that I am enough, exactly as I am.

Thank you for being here. If this essay resonated with you, please consider sharing it.

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About Me:

My name’s Michell. I’m a father, husband, and writer.

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