The Cost of Silence
Why Speaking Up Is Hard, Necessary, and Worth It
Silence is heavy.
Heavier than people realize.
It sits in the throat, behind the ribs, at the base of the spine - a weight you learn to carry because for a long time, you believe it’s easier than speaking, easier than crying, easier than telling the truth out loud.
Silence becomes a shield.
A mask.
A survival mechanism.
But silence has a cost.
A steep one.
Especially for surviving spouses, families of the fallen, veterans, caregivers, and anyone who has walked through grief or through systems that were never built with our reality in mind.
Speaking up is hard.
But not speaking up?
That can cost far more.
Silence Protects Systems - Not People
For years, surviving spouses were expected to be quiet.
Gracious.
Polite.
“Dignified.”
We were told to accept what we were given, not question how decisions were made, and definitely not challenge the rules, the processes, or the outdated policies that shaped our lives after loss.
But silence has never protected a single surviving family.
It has only protected broken systems.
It shields institutions from accountability.
It preserves outdated laws.
It keeps injustices buried under ceremony.
It silences the very people living with the consequences.
When we don’t speak up, nothing changes — and the suffering simply moves on to the next family.
Speaking Up Is Hard Because It Requires Truth
Using your voice means telling stories that hurt to repeat.
It means naming failures no one wants to acknowledge.
It means remembering moments you wish you could forget.
It requires pulling your grief into daylight.
It requires courage you do not always feel.
For me, the moment I truly understood this was after Jay’s death.
He was gone, and the silence afterward was deafening.
Not just the emotional silence, but the systemic silence.
The unanswered questions.
The bureaucratic confusion.
The lack of clear support.
The quiet expectation that I would simply endure it.
But grief changes you.
Loss strips away fear.
And somewhere deep inside, something in me refused to stay quiet.
I realized that speaking up, even through shaking hands or a cracking voice, was the only way to make sure other families didn’t experience the same maze of confusion and injustice.
Silence might protect the heart in the short term.
But over time, it breaks it.
The First Time I Spoke Up Publicly, I Didn’t Feel Ready
A few months after Jay died, I was asked to fill in for a missing speaker at a toxic exposure symposium.
I was not emotionally prepared.
I was not planned, polished, or even steady. I had memorized the facts and statistics, but had not “written” a formal speech.
But Jay died because the system wasn’t honest about toxic exposure or his cancer. And I couldn’t stay silent.
So I did what grief makes you do:
I told the truth.
I spoke about Jay.
About what toxic exposure did to his body.
About the fight we faced.
About the families still fighting.
About the ones already gone.
I cried in public, which I despise, and still kept speaking.
Because once you know the cost of silence, your fear of speaking becomes smaller than your need for truth.
That moment opened doors.
It led to meetings with lawmakers.
It led to policy conversations.
It became the foundation of my advocacy.
Courage didn’t come first.
Action did.
And courage followed.
Silence Steals Power - Speaking Reclaims It
When you speak, you aren’t just sharing information.
You are reclaiming your agency.
You are saying:
“This happened.”
“This matters.”
“This needs to change.”
“This will not be ignored.”
Speaking rewrites the narrative.
Speaking destabilizes complacency.
Speaking forces people to confront realities they would rather avoid.
It doesn’t make you dramatic.
It makes you effective.
But Speaking Up Hurts - Let’s Be Honest About That
People like to pretend advocacy is neat and inspirational.
It is not.
Speaking up often means:
reopening wounds
recounting trauma
answering painful questions
facing dismissive attitudes
challenging institutions
navigating backlash
standing alone (sometimes)
being judged for your tone, tears, or timing
It is emotionally expensive.
It takes energy that grief has already taxed.
It means doing the hard thing because the alternative is worse.
But here’s the truth:
The only thing heavier than speaking up
is wishing you had.
Your Voice Matters Because It Saves Lives
Every time a surviving spouse tells their story, policymakers learn something they can’t learn from a PowerPoint.
Every time a veteran speaks openly about toxic exposure, another veteran recognizes their symptoms.
Every time a family confronts a broken rule, the system loses one more excuse to ignore it.
Every time someone pushes back, the path widens for those who will need it later.
Your voice doesn’t just raise awareness.
It changes outcomes.
It protects future families.
It shifts culture.
It shapes law.
Speaking up is advocacy in its rawest form.
The Cost of Silence Is Higher Than the Cost of Courage
Silence costs understanding.
Silence costs justice.
Silence costs policy reform.
Silence costs lives.
Silence costs the dignity of those who served and the families who survived them.
The cost of speaking up; fear, discomfort, vulnerability, is temporary.
The cost of staying silent lasts forever.
Speak, Even If Your Voice Trembles
Speaking up does not require perfection.
It requires truth.
It requires heart.
It requires honesty.
It requires the willingness to step forward even when you’d rather stay invisible.
Jay’s story taught me this:
The quiet approach doesn’t fix anything.
The loud approach can change everything.
Your voice is your power.
Your story is your evidence.
Your truth is your contribution to a system that desperately needs change.
Speak so others don’t suffer what you did.
Speak so the system cannot pretend it doesn’t know.
Speak so the legacy of those we lost is not silence, but action.
Speak - even if your voice trembles.
It’s worth it.
Every time.
