The Silent Observer

I’ve spent most of my life watching.

Not out of disinterest or apathy — but because my voice was still buried under layers of confusion, fear, and survival.

I saw things.

Felt them deeply.

I just didn’t know how to say it out loud.

In school, I remember sitting off to the side while a kid got picked on again and again. Sometimes it was obvious — loud and cruel. Other times it was quieter — being left out, whispered about, ignored like they weren’t even there.

I’d sit there, pretending to focus on my work, but my body felt tense. I hated it.

I hated how normal it had become.

I hated how everyone just kept going.

But I didn’t speak up.

Not because I didn’t care — but because I didn’t know how.

I didn’t have the emotional tools.

I didn’t feel safe enough.

I didn’t even fully understand what was happening inside me.

So I watched. And I carried it.

I think a part of me always knew the world was off — rigged, even — but I didn’t yet have the language or confidence to challenge it.

I just kept collecting moments.

Storing them.

Tucking them into the corners of my mind and heart.

And now, all these years later, I’m finally giving those moments a voice.

That’s what The Silent Observer is.

It’s not about rehashing drama or playing the victim.

It’s about tracing the shape of things that were never fully named.

It’s about honoring the quiet truths that shaped me — and maybe shaped you too.

I used to think being quiet meant being weak.

But now I know there’s power in being an observer.

It gave me insight.

Pattern recognition.

A deeper understanding of people and systems.

I didn’t react in the moment — but I never forgot.

And now, I’m finally speaking