They say I won’t amount to anything in life just because I talk back.
But tell me—since when did having a voice become a flaw? Since when did speaking my mind turn into an act of disrespect? You call it “answering back,” but I call it defending myself. You call it arrogance, but I call it refusing to be trampled on.

If you truly don’t want your child to lose their mind from choking on the words they long to say, then maybe you should try listening instead of silencing. Because when a person learns that their thoughts hold no value, they will stop speaking altogether—not out of respect, but out of resignation. And when they choose to swallow every truth for the sake of “peace,” that silence will fester inside like poison. It will turn into an anger you will label as “rebellion,” when in reality, it is only the scream of someone who has been unheard for too long.

Your child may be kind—yes. But sometimes, the kind ones are the most dangerous. Because kindness can be nothing but a thin mask, and behind it are sharpened thoughts, venomous words, and truths too lethal for your comfort. They know how to smile while bleeding inside. They know how to keep the peace while a war rages in their head. They’ve mastered the art of silence, but every unspoken word turns into a blade—and one day, that blade will cut through the air without warning.

And when that day comes—when the mask falls and the volcano erupts—do not cry foul. Do not call them “ungrateful.” You were the one who taught them that their voice was a crime. You were the one who fed their silence until it became a weapon. For it is written: “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34). If the heart is filled with love, the words will heal—but if the heart is filled with hurt, the words will burn like fire.

And when that echo becomes too loud for you to bear, don’t you dare pretend to be the victim of it. You cannot spend years caging a voice, chaining it with your pride, and then act shocked when it finally breaks free—wild, unfiltered, and armed with the very truths you were too fragile to face. Do you think a serpent is born venomous? No. It learns to strike after it has been stepped on too many times. Do you think a heart turns cold overnight? No. It freezes after being drenched in neglect, after realizing warmth was never going to come from you.

You mistake silence for obedience, but silence is not always submission. Sometimes, silence is just the deep breath before the storm. And when the winds rise—when the words you’ve buried in someone come roaring back like lightning—you will feel the sting of every truth you tried to smother. “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” (Galatians 6:7) If you plant seeds of contempt, do not expect to harvest gentleness. If you plant seeds of dismissal, do not expect to be met with understanding. You cannot feed someone stones and expect them to offer you bread in return.

So when my words finally spill—sharp enough to cut, hot enough to sear—you will taste the bitterness you poured into me. And you will realize—I was never the problem. I was the result.