I Remember What You Said: Reclaiming my Dignity

I remember every name I was called.

Every slur.

Every insult disguised as truth.

Not just the people,

the words.

Bitch.

Slut.

Demon.

Crazy.

Zero.

Wench.

Stupid.

Whore.

Shady.

Conniving.

I remember all of them.

And I remember what happened next.

They moved on.

They showed back up in my life,

or in rooms I couldn’t avoid...

as if nothing had happened.

No apology.

No reckoning.

Just an unspoken expectation that I would play along.

Smile.

Nod.

Pretend there was no history.

As if the past had an expiration date,

and I was supposed to absorb the damage quietly.

But I didn’t forget.

Because those words weren’t random.

They were chosen.

Weapons meant to shame, erase, diminish, control.

To make me small enough to manage

or distorted enough to blame.

What cut even deeper was the silence that followed.

No curiosity about the impact.

No acknowledgment of harm.

No ownership.

I’ve done enough work to know I don’t need their apology to heal.

But let’s be clear,

their silence doesn’t absolve them.

It clarifies them.

I used to think forgiveness meant letting go of the truth.

Now I know it means releasing myself from carrying their denial.

Reclaiming my dignity meant remembering what was said without letting it define who I am.

A Slice of Humble Pie

They may never say I was wrong, but I don’t need them to. I remember, and that’s enough.

Reflection

What words were used to rewrite your character or diminish your humanity?

Where have you been asked to pretend the harm never happened?

What does it look like to remember without reliving?

Affirmation

I know who I am. Their shame no longer sticks to me.