When I think back on my time at the Housing Authority, one of the clearest lessons I walked away with is this: silence doesn’t protect people. It protects systems.

I convinced myself for years that staying quiet was the safest choice. That if I didn’t push back too hard, if I just made it through one more week, things would get better. I thought silence equaled peace. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that my silence wasn’t keeping me safe. It was keeping me stuck.

Every time I stayed quiet about unfair treatment, I betrayed myself. Every time I held my tongue instead of speaking truth, I helped reinforce a system that thrived on fear and retaliation. And when I finally left, the mask came off. They illegally withheld my last paycheck, showing me in black and white just how little my silence had ever protected me.

That final injustice became a turning point. It was the wake-up call I needed to see that keeping my mouth shut didn’t keep me safe — it only allowed dysfunction to thrive.

In this season of transition — through fasting, my Deuteronomy devotional, and preparing for baptism — God has been reminding me that my voice was never meant to be buried. Silence might feel like a shield, but in truth, it’s a muzzle. And muzzling myself for a paycheck, a title, or other people’s comfort is just another form of self-abandonment.

Now, I speak differently. I pray out loud. I confront what doesn’t align. I refuse to mute myself to make others comfortable. Because if my silence is required for something to survive, then it’s not something God wants me to be part of.

I walked away learning that my voice matters. And I’ll never let another broken system convince me that silence is safety.