Sometimes I wonder how many times I’ll have to say the same thing before someone actually hears it. People have hurt children. That silence protects abusers. That fiction isn’t a threat—it’s a way to tell the truth when the truth gets ignored.

Despite that, there are people who flinch at the story—not because it’s untrue, but because it’s too true. They tell me it’s too close, too uncomfortable, too dangerous. They say, “Don’t write about that. It won’t make a difference.” As if those harmed aren’t already living with the consequences.

I’m tired of repeating what should be obvious. I’m weary of seeing the emphasis change from survivors to the reputations of those who aided the abuse. I’m tired of how people minimise genuine pain the moment it inconveniences them.

Let’s be clear: if you’ve never lived with the threat of violence—actual violence, the kind that can end in blood or death—you’re lucky. But don’t mistake that luck for moral authority. Don’t tell people how they should speak, how they should heal, or how they should tell their stories. You’ve never had to stay quiet to stay alive. If that’s not your lived experience—be grateful. But don’t you dare judge the people who are just trying to survive it.

Because the cost of silence is not only emotional and personal—it is economic. Entire systems feel the impact when violence is festers.

The Tangible Toll: Violence Costs Us All

When people say, “Don’t talk about it,” what they really mean is “Let’s not look too closely at what it costs.” But here’s the truth: we all pay.