When Silence Is Survival: A Somatic Reflection on Power, Oppression, and Embodied Courage
“When privilege leads to the comfort of silence, only those in power benefit.”
There are moments when the world feels too heavy to bear. And in those moments, many of us go quiet.
Not because we don’t care — but because our bodies don’t know what else to do.
The nervous system, when overwhelmed by injustice, trauma, or despair, will do what it has always done to survive: it fawns, freezes, shuts down, dissociates, or numbs. These are not moral failings. These are survival responses. They are the body’s wisdom speaking — even when we don’t like what it says.
But in systems shaped by oppression — where obedience is rewarded, and emotionality is pathologized — those survival responses get exploited.
And silence becomes a mechanism of control.
Silence Isn’t Always a Choice — Sometimes It’s Training
If you’ve grown up in or around systems that prize discipline, predictability, and performance — whether that’s academia, conservatory culture, religious communities, or bureaucratic institutions — you’ve likely received unspoken lessons:
Stay small.
Don’t speak until you’re certain.
Don’t make waves.
Don’t feel too much.
Don’t rest unless you’ve earned it.
Don’t draw attention unless it’s celebratory or safe.
These are not just social norms. They’re somatic patterns — encoded in muscle tension, breath-holding, vocal hesitation, collapsed posture, or a hypervigilant smile.
Over time, these embodied survival strategies become identities.
We mistake caution for character. Silence for respect. Compliance for professionalism. We become so well-trained in palatability that we forget how to feel.
The Cost of Control-Based Systems
Systems of control — whether political, institutional, or cultural — don’t just regulate behavior.
They regulate bodies.
They reward those who suppress emotion, endure stress without complaint, and minimize their own needs. They punish or pathologize those who move too freely, feel too deeply, or question too often.
Under these systems:
Emotion is framed as weakness.
Grief is inconvenient.
Rest is laziness.
Dissent is disloyalty.
Difference is dangerous.
This doesn’t just happen in governments. It happens in music studios, board meetings, faculty retreats, and spiritual communities. It happens when diversity is celebrated in theory — but erased in practice. It happens when words like belonging, care, and DEI are used to protect power instead of people.
And the body knows.
Even when language gaslights, the nervous system doesn’t lie.
When Language Feels Like a Weapon
What happens when the very words meant to protect — diversity, equity, inclusion, belonging — are twisted?
When institutional power uses the language of liberation to shield itself from accountability?
We experience:
Confusion: “Isn’t this what we asked for?”
Collapse: “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Self-doubt: “Maybe I’m too sensitive. Maybe it’s me.”
Freeze: “I want to speak, but I feel paralyzed.”
This is not theoretical. It is somatic.
It shows up as:
Holding your breath during meetings
Smiling through tension
Feeling sick before rehearsals or performances
Avoiding hard conversations not out of fear of disagreement — but fear of being gaslit, discredited, or dismissed
And once again, silence feels safer.
Your Nervous System Isn’t the Enemy
If you feel overwhelmed right now, that’s not a flaw. It’s information.
Your nervous system is telling the truth about what your environment has taught it:
That speaking is dangerous
That questioning may cost you belonging
That feeling is a liability
But what systems teach can be unlearned.
That unlearning is not intellectual. It’s somatic.
Resistance Lives in the Body
To reclaim your agency is not just about finding the right words.
It’s about:
Allowing your breath to deepen
Letting grief surface in small, supported ways
Moving your body in ways that feel unscripted
Letting yourself rest without justification
Feeling discomfort without abandoning yourself
These are not luxuries. They are acts of resistance.
Because to feel in a body that’s been trained not to feel is revolutionary.
To rest in a culture of over-functioning is defiance.
To speak truth in a room built to preserve the status quo is courage.
To stay with the discomfort instead of numbing out is power.
Start With What’s Possible Now
You don’t have to lead a protest.
You don’t have to write the perfect statement.
You don’t have to save the world.
But you do have to choose:
Will I stay present with what’s happening in me?
Will I honor the wisdom of my overwhelm — not as weakness, but as signal?
Will I take one small action that moves toward truth — even if it’s quiet, even if it’s trembling?
Because the body remembers.
And even the smallest act of embodied truth is a crack in the armor of oppression.
Reflection Prompts
When do I notice my body going silent? What sensations accompany that?
What emotions or truths feel “too much” to speak?
Who benefits when I stay quiet? Who is harmed?
What is one act of care I can offer myself this week that feels like rebellion?
Closing Invitation
This is not about doing more.
It’s about feeling more — with support.
At mBODYed, we’re building spaces where the nervous system isn’t pathologized, where grief and joy are welcomed, and where rest and regulation are part of the revolution.
If you’re seeking a place to start, to return, or to belong — you’re not alone.
Let’s remember together.