unspokenwords

“The Silence That Shaped Me”

A true story of pain, survival, and rediscovery.

My name is not important here — what matters is the story I carry within me.

The person I’ve become today has been shaped not just by choices, but by silent battles I never asked for… but had to survive.

My childhood was supposed to be filled with innocence and laughter — but some memories left marks far deeper than bruises. I was very young when I first encountered something that no child should ever experience. A trusted neighbor, someone we used to visit without fear, took advantage of our innocence. What happened in that closed room was confusing and terrifying. I didn’t understand what he was doing at the time — only that it felt wrong. Somehow, I managed to run away. But the fear didn’t leave with me.

The second incident hit even closer to home. It was a cousin — someone I had grown up calling ‘bhai’. I had no knowledge of what was right or wrong, no awareness of how to protect myself. It started subtly — an inappropriate video, a misleading word, calling it a “game.” Slowly, his behavior crossed all limits. There were moments when I was asleep, and he would violate my space without a word. I remained silent. Too scared to speak. Too young to even fully understand. And that silence slowly became my prison.

The third time, it was yet another cousin. This one lived with us for a while at my grandmother’s house. His approach was different — almost gentle. I was still a child, and I mistook the wrong kind of attention for affection. I didn’t understand boundaries. Eventually, I realized it was wrong, and I stepped away. But by then, I had already begun to question my own worth.

These experiences didn’t just end in childhood — they left a lasting imprint on the way I saw myself, the world, and relationships. I couldn’t sit still in one place emotionally. I struggled with self-worth, with fear, and often with guilt that was never mine to carry. I kept pretending I was okay. I kept running from the shadows of my past.

Until something changed.

Amidst this chaos, I met someone — unexpectedly. A boy, living far away, who entered my life with a kind heart and a gentle soul. In a world where I had forgotten how to trust, he made me feel safe. He didn’t know about my past, but he recognized my present pain. Instead of running from it, he stood by me — with patience, with care, and with love that asked for nothing in return.

For the first time, I began to feel human again.

I began to believe that I could be loved — not despite my past, but simply for who I am.

Even now, there are nights when old memories visit.

Even now, I struggle with things I can’t always explain.

But now… I have someone who doesn’t demand perfection — he walks beside me through the imperfection.

This is my story — real, raw, and unfiltered.

Not for sympathy. Not for attention.

But to remind someone out there that you are not alone.

What happened to us was never our fault.

And healing, though not instant, is possible — when love is patient, and when we begin to forgive ourselves for surviving.

*This story may tell about the author she wants help anonymously*##Childhoodtrauma #Trauma #realstory #story #unspokenwords #MentalHealth

How Do You Say "Lost" in Every Language?

I speak four languages fluently. Spanish, Guarani, Portuguese, and English. In college, I took a semester of French and wandered through Paris, piecing together phrases from my lessons, testing the limits of my tongue. But fluency is a fickle thing—it’s not just about words, but about being understood. And if that’s the case, have I ever truly been fluent in anything?

I was born in Paraguay, a country where Guarani became an official language in 1992. By then, I was already 8 years old, but my journey with Guarani had started long before. Long before it was accepted. Long before it was allowed.

My mother forbade me from speaking it. She wanted my Spanish to be perfect, untarnished. Guarani, to her, was a limitation. To me, it was a door. One that led to friendship, to belonging, to a world just beyond my reach.

So, I learned it in secret. A tiny act of rebellion, a desperate grasp at connection. I don’t even remember how I found a Guarani dictionary, but I did. And I poured over it, memorizing the words like they were spells, hoping they would conjure a place for me among my peers.

But language does not guarantee belonging.

I learned Guarani because I wanted friends.

And I still had none.

I was the weird one—too much, too intense, too hyperactive, too… wrong. I wouldn’t understand why until decades later, when at 29, I was diagnosed with ADHD. And now, at 41, I am certain that I sit somewhere on the autism spectrum too. But back then, I had no labels. Just rejection.

So, I turned inward. If no one would speak to me, I would listen.

That’s how I learned Portuguese—not in conversation, not in friendship, but in isolation. My bedroom became my sanctuary, my television my companion. I grew up on the border of Brazil, where six different Brazilian channels played for free, their voices filling the silence where friendships should have been.

I absorbed Portuguese like a sponge, the way I had with Guarani. But this time, not out of rebellion, not out of hope, but out of loneliness.

Guarani was the language I learned because I longed for friendship.

Portuguese was the language I learned because I had none.

At 16, I left Paraguay. The United States swallowed me whole, and suddenly, English wasn’t a choice—it was a lifeline. I learned it the way one learns to swim after being thrown into the ocean: desperately, without grace, without a moment to think.

And yet, no matter how many languages I carried in my mouth, I still found myself misunderstood.

Fluency is not the same as connection.

I could translate words, conjugate verbs, construct perfect sentences. But the rhythm of human interaction, the invisible rules of friendship, the art of simply belonging—those things never came easily to me.

Instead, I became hyper-focused on romantic relationships, believing that love could fill the spaces friendship never did. But even there, I faltered. I was present, but never fully invested. I loved, but never stayed. No relationship lasted beyond two years. The pattern repeated itself in jobs, homes, entire cities. I was always moving. Searching.

And then, there’s the greatest irony of all—I speak multiple languages, yet I struggle to communicate.

Not because I lack the words. I have too many words. But I never learned the ones that matter most—the ones that make people stay, the ones that make them understand me, the ones that turn conversation into connection.

How do you say “lost” in every language?

Because that’s the word I know best.

#MyStoryMatters #sharingmytruth #breakingthesilence #unspokenwords #writingtoheal #neurodivergentvoices #adhdawareness #AutismAcceptance #invisiblestruggles #mentalhealthmatters #EndTheStigma #lostintranslation #languageandloneliness #youarenotalone #healingthroughwords #Findingmyvoice #fromsilencetostrength #writingthroughpain #multilingualmisfit #fluentbutmisunderstood #thepowerofwords

"The silence that shaped me"

How Do You Say "Lost" in Every Language?

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