The Voice of Freedom

I was made sick in the silence.

From infancy, words pierced my tiny ears, sinking deep into my subconscious—where the bleeding began and continued, undetected.

My parents reinforced the words with their actions. They starved themselves not only of food, but of true connection. They hated the rich, but chased the money. Dreamed the dream, but never woke up. Birthed the children, but aborted the connection.

Implicitly, I was programmed to crucify my flesh but love the creator of it. To downplay my talents but uplift the one who gave them. To quietly obey, but proudly proselytize.

As best I could, I complied.
I tried.
And when I failed, I begged to be forgiven, accepted, welcomed back.

It was a sick cycle, and I was trapped—or so I thought.

I’ve never done things halfway.
When I was asked to love the Lord, I gave my whole life to him.

My now-husband had to convert from Catholicism to Evangelicalism in order to marry me. He also had to marry me in order to access my body.
No ding-ding without the wedding ring.

I became a trad wife.
I homeschooled our children.
We lived below the poverty line on one income.

My husband worked two jobs and rarely had the time or energy to spend with our growing family.

We didn’t ask for help—from our parents, our friends, or even the government.

We were broke.
Emotionally unregulated.
And our god was all we had.

But one day, in my desire to please the Lord, I prayed for truth—even if it contradicted everything I had ever known.

That was the day everything changed.

Was it the divine that brought about the transformation?
Or simply my willingness to be open to a new perspective?
I don’t know.

What I do know is this: without that openness—and the voices of those who had gone before me—I would still be trapped in that hellish cycle.

Cycles don’t break without intervention.
Something—or someone—has to be the catalyst.
My cycle breaker was curiosity.

As the saying goes: “Well-behaved women seldom make history.”
And while I may not make it into the history books, I did break some cycles for my children.
Their history will be better because of my disobedience to a system that demanded I conform, shrink, and shut-up.
I hope they’ll continue the good work I started and break the cycle even when I am unable.

I hope they learn from me that their body is beautiful at every stage. That it is the one friend guaranteed never to leave nor forsake them—until death do they part. It deserves the utmost respect.

May they chase their own dreams.
Ask for help when they need it.
And live a life they’re proud of.

Although not always needed, my connection will always be available to them—as long as I live.

Because I chose curiosity over certainty, and began to heal out loud—not just in front of my children and husband, but also my extended family and even on social media—others now know it’s possible.

Healing out loud, raising awareness—
It’s not a small thing.
It’s huge.
It’s the voice of freedom.

I was made sick in the silence.
But now I heal with my whole chest—ten toes down.

I’d love for you to join me.

With love,
Candi D.💕

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