When Liberation Makes You the Villain: Scripts of Shame and Silence
Why the cost of freedom is often being misunderstood or vilified.
“You’ve changed.”
They say it like a warning.
But what they mean is:
You’re no longer easy to control.
You’re no longer quiet when harm is normalized.
You’re no longer willing to contort yourself for their comfort.
What they call rebellion… is actually return.
Because when you begin to live outside of scripts, family scripts, religious scripts, respectability scripts, you don’t just shift the room.
You threaten the system.
And systems always respond with shame when they cannot regain control.
There’s a particular kind of grief that comes not from being harmed, but from being blamed for your healing.
A loneliness that cracks open when you finally stop performing… and the applause stops too.
A silence that grows louder when you say, “this is who I am now”… and the people who once loved you say nothing back.
We don’t talk about that part of liberation enough.
We talk about the fire.
We talk about the boundaries.
We talk about reclaiming our voice.
But we don’t talk enough about the cost
The exile.
The rewriting of your character in other people’s stories.
The loneliness of becoming unrecognizable to those who only knew your survival self.
The Truth Is: They Don’t Miss You.
They Miss the Version of You That Made Them Comfortable
When you begin living in your truth (fully, audaciously) you don’t just free yourself.
You confront everyone around you with the reality that change is possible. That pretending is a choice. That silence is complicity.
And that’s terrifying… for them.
So they reach for control the only way they know how: by shaming you into submission.
They call your clarity “attitude.”
They call your rest “irresponsible.”
They call your no “selfish.”
They call your truth “divisive.”
But what they’re really saying is:
“I miss when you swallowed the truth so we could stay comfortable.”
And you?
You begin to question everything.
You wonder if it’s worth it.
You wonder if freedom should feel this lonely.
You wonder if maybe… you are the villain.
“Difficult” Was My First Spiritual Name
I can’t recall the first time I was called difficult,
because it started before I even had words.
Before I had boundaries.
Before I had a voice strong enough to name what didn’t feel right.
It began in the home, wrapped in the language of love, discipline, and God.
Catholicism was my first colonizer.
And like all colonizers, it came cloaked in “salvation.”
But salvation, I quickly learned, had conditions.
Obey. Be good. Be quiet. Be small.
And if you couldn’t?
You were sinful. Rebellious. A problem.
Religion taught me that questioning was betrayal.
That feeling too much was disobedient.
That autonomy was dangerous.
And just when home wasn't enough to contain me,
I was handed over to the next line of defense: the public school system.
Public schools don’t just educate… they indoctrinate.
They normalize hierarchy.
They reward obedience.
They punish curiosity.
They train children to self-police before they’ve even fully inhabited their bodies.
And when the state’s schooling didn’t break you enough?
There was always the “upgrade”
Catholic school.
Christian academies.
A place that sold control as refinement and called it virtue.
The message was clear:
If the world couldn’t erase your voice, it would sanctify your silence.
And so the pattern deepened:
Every time I set a boundary… I was “difficult.”
Every time I questioned authority… I was “defiant.”
Every time I named harm… I was “angry,” “inappropriate,” “too much.”
But here’s the truth:
I was never difficult.
I was discerning.
I was never defiant.
I was divine.
I was never broken.
I was boundary-full. (and so were you)
Now, I know what they were really trying to say:
“Your clarity makes us uncomfortable.”
“Your refusal disrupts our illusion.”
“Your existence dares to be free in a system built on control.”
Well, good.
Because I will not trade my truth for comfort.
I will not trade my sacred fire for their fragile order.
Let them call me difficult.
I answer to liberation.
Speaking Truth in a World That Demands Performance
This month, we’re dismantling the language of obedience, the clichés, euphemisms, and tone-policing phrases that keep us small, silent, and “civil.”
But sometimes, we don’t even need to be spoken over. We internalize the silencing.
We learn to preempt rejection by making ourselves more agreeable, more palatable, more “nice.”
And when we stop doing that?
When we say no without explaining,
When we tell the truth without apologizing,
When we rest without “earning” it…
We are no longer seen as “kind.”
We are seen as a threat.
And the words come in fast:
“You’ve changed.”
“You think you’re better.”
“You’re the problem.”
But here’s the truth:
When liberation becomes your priority, being misunderstood will become your price.
Shame Is the Currency of Control
Let’s tell the truth here: shame is not feedback.
It’s not “love.” It’s not “concern.” It’s a systemic technology.
It is how families, churches, schools, workplaces — and yes, movements — keep people in line.
Shame is the leash they use to keep you close.
And here’s how it sounds:
“You’re breaking up the family.”
“This is not how we do things.”
“You’re hurting people with your tone.”
“You used to be so nice.”
“Why can’t you just let it go?”
“You’ve changed.”
Of course you’ve changed. You were supposed to.
You were not born to stay trapped inside the version of yourself that other people were most comfortable with.
Liberation is not about staying lovable to those who only loved your silence.
Liberation is about choosing your wholeness, even if it costs you proximity.
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