May 11, 2015

For Sensitive Hearts that are Sick of Staying Silent.


All the little injustices, jagged hurts, burning insults, and slightly passive-aggressive remarks.

It all starts to throb uncontrollably like a smothered volcano, especially in a sensitive heart.

All the pain, all the hurt, all the tears and fluttery fears. It’s stuffed so far down. Compacted so tightly. Folded so neatly into perfectly organized little piles.

Simmering into big blazes, it boils for too long, lurks too deep, and secretly wreaks havoc beneath the surface.

The pressure’s too much.

It’s too much.

It’s unspeakably exhausting to suppress swirling seas of raw emotion.

It’s miles past painful to repress our raw, sensitive spirits and fragile-yet-strong souls.

It’s downright fucked-up to numb ourselves, out of pure desperation.

We don’t have to hold back anymore.

Because we are destined for more than a muted, morphine existence.

We are born to see and feel and taste every color.

We are made to lap up lavender tangerine sunsets and dive into the foamy depths of neon, coral reef feelings.

We are meant to be intensely silky-soft and fiercely sensitive.

And, our hearts—well, they long for luscious freedom of expression.

Because even when we’re trembling, rubbed raw, scared shitless and shaking in our sensitivity—we can still speak our truths brilliantly.

So brilliantly.

The silence ends now.

Let’s spark an inner revolution like no other.

Let’s explode, implode, burst open and erupt.

Let’s coax burning hot lava to rise up from our throats and spit the weight of unsaid words and unfelt feelings into the massiveness of the starry night sky.

Let’s scream to the breeze, sing lullabies to the full moon, howl to the trees, and shout sonnets to the minty green grass.

Let’s sob for a moment and remember all the times we didn’t own our pain, disowning ourselves in dark pools of silence instead.

Yes. Let’s remember it all.

The times we smiled softly and said “yes, sure, of course” when we really meant “fuck no.”

The times we secretly shed buckets of tears when others rejected our art, our gossamer dreams, our very beings.

The times we stayed deadly silent during confrontations, unable to speak, unable to move.

The times we almost drowned in electric thunderstorms of booming emotional intensity.

The times we were treated like complete and utter shit and never did a damn thing about it.

Let’s remember it all.

Let’s feel it rise to the surface and cascade through our entire bodies, holding ourselves obscenely tenderly as it comes.

Let’s cry out all those crashing tidalwaves of old, stinging pain.

Let’s re-ignite smothered embers of rage and indignation—for they will spark beautiful blossoms of new life.

The silence ends now.


Let’s gently rip the duct tape off our mouths, hearts, and souls.

Let’s place our pain right here, on our tattered shirt sleeves and show it to ourselves. To the world. To the entire fucking universe.

We don’t need to be ashamed anymore.

Because right now, in this rawest of raw moments, we are more powerful than ever.

We are more free than ever.

We are more ourselves than ever.

The terrible reign of suffocating silence and strangling suppression ends now.


Own your sensitive heart.

Tell your story. Write it. Dance it. Sing it. Paint it. Draw it. Yell it.

Because the world is waiting, with soft, eager ears to hear the pure-spun brilliance of your profoundly gorgeous voice.

The silence ends now.



Relephant Read:

How to Fall in Love with Yourself.


Author: Sarah Harvey

Editor: Renee Jahnke

Photo: Kira Held-Flickr

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