🪺Glimmer Nest: The Silent Language of Struggle

When Words Fail Us

In our journey through life, we often encounter moments when words fail us - when our experiences are too raw, too complex, or too painful to articulate. Today, we're exploring the intricate dance of communicating needs when traditional language falls short, whether due to trauma, neurodiversity, or overwhelming emotions.

I'm reminded of a moment from when my son, now a teenager, was between 3-6 years old. As some of you know, he's autistic, and during that time, he was nonverbal. We communicated using PECS (Picture Exchange Communication System), a method that relies on visual cards to express needs and wants.

One day, I was absorbed in work, too focused on whatever task was in front of me to notice my son's attempts to get my attention. Tugging on my arm wasn't working, so he got creative. In a moment of pure resourcefulness, he found my work badge and placed it on his communication board under the "I want..." section.

Photo by: R. Katharine C. Nisson ©2013

I laugh and cry thinking about this moment made even more poignant because it was Mother’s Day that year and I had just gotten home from working all weekend and I was exhausted. It was his way of saying, "Hey! I need you, woman!" It was a stark reminder that communication goes far beyond words, and that sometimes, the most powerful messages come in unexpected forms.

This memory takes on new meaning when I reflect on my own struggles with communication, particularly in the aftermath of trauma. Years ago, as a college freshman, I experienced an assault that left me with not just physical wounds, but deep emotional scars that affected my ability to ask for help.

In the days following the assault, I attended classes with a broken cheekbone and ribs. I was in physical pain and emotional turmoil, drowning in feelings I had never experienced before. Yet, somehow, I remained invisible. The university officials who were meant to support me were woefully unprepared. The campus police and administrators, though perhaps well-intentioned, lacked the training to handle such a sensitive situation.

Instead of feeling supported and heard, I felt like an inconvenience. I was met with responses like, "This has never happened before," which, even if true to their knowledge, felt dismissive of my experience. There was a palpable sense of discomfort, as if they were eager to whitewash the event and move on quickly.

As an 18-year-old, still new to college life, I found myself in a situation where the very people meant to protect me seemed more concerned with maintaining the university's image than addressing the reality of what had happened. The message I received was that finding my assailant was unlikely, and that I was "safe" now.

But I wasn't safe. I have looked over my shoulder ever since. This experience hardwired my brain into believing that asking for help and telling the truth were pointless exercises. It taught me that even when you manage to break through the barrier of silence, you might still not be truly heard or helped. The subtle gaslighting - the implication that my experience was an anomaly, that it couldn't have been as bad as I was making it out to be - left deep scars on my ability to trust and communicate.

It wasn't until years later, during the Kavanaugh hearings, as I listened to Christine Blasey Ford testify, that something inside me broke wide open. Suddenly, I was transported back to those college years, reliving the assault I had suppressed for nearly 25 years. In that moment, I realized that communication goes far beyond the words we speak or type - sometimes, it's the silence that speaks the loudest.

For many of us who have experienced trauma or struggle with communication, this silent language is a daily reality. We might find ourselves retreating, canceling plans, or going through the motions of daily life while carrying an invisible burden. It's a skill we develop out of necessity, but one that often leaves us isolated and misunderstood.

So how do we bridge this gap? How do we make our needs known when speaking seems impossible, and when past experiences have taught us that speaking up might not make a difference?

1. Creative Expression: Sometimes, we can express through art, music, or unconventional means what we can't say in words. My son's use of my work badge is a perfect example of this. In the aftermath of my assault, I found solace in writing poetry, channeling my pain into verses I couldn't speak aloud. I have several poems I don’t even recall writing that I read just a few weeks ago. They are full of pain and mistrust and had I shared them openly with others they would have most certainly at least figured out that I needed help.

2. Digital Signals: In our connected world, even a simple social media post can speak volumes. Years after my assault, just days after I heard Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony, I wrote a short, cryptic post about my experience that resulted in an outpouring of support and shared experiences through DMs and replies.

3. Showing Up: Sometimes, just being present is a form of communication. Even though I couldn't speak about my experience, I kept showing up to class, silently carrying my pain. Each day was a testament to my resilience, even if no one else understood its significance. I do recall one professor asking if I was ok, knowing that he could tell I carried myself differently. I remember nodding “yes” while walking away briskly with tears coming fast.

4. Retreating: Paradoxically, withdrawing can be a powerful signal. My retreat into silence after the assault was, in retrospect, a cry for help that went unheard. Now, as a parent, I've learned to recognize when my son's withdrawal might be his way of communicating overwhelm or distress.

5. Witnessing Others' Courage: Sometimes, seeing others speak their truth can give us the strength to find our own voice. It was hearing Christine Blasey Ford's testimony that finally allowed me to share my story. Similarly, connecting with other parents of neurodiverse children has given me the courage to advocate more effectively for my son.

People often underestimate the power of these subtle forms of communication. But these actions - a creative use of objects, a cryptic post, a sudden withdrawal, a persistent silence - are rarely just random behaviors. They're often desperate attempts to express inner turmoil when direct communication feels too vulnerable or overwhelming.

Your needs are valid, whether you can voice them or not. We're all learning this complex, wordless language together. If you're struggling to make your needs known, know that even the smallest step towards expression - a brief post, a vague mention, a silent plea for help, or even a clever use of a work badge - can be the beginning of healing and connection.

Sometimes, the most profound communications come not from what is said, but from what is shown, felt, and understood in the spaces between words. In the next issue, we'll explore a topic that's close to my heart: partnering with our own minds to navigate the challenges of a mind which feels wired against us. As we've discussed the importance of nonverbal communication and recognizing silent struggles, it's equally crucial to understand how we can work with our own thoughts to find moments of peace and empowerment, even when faced with major life hurdles. Until then, listen for the unspoken, watch for the unseen, and know that, here, you are heard - words or no words.

With warmth and understanding,

19th C. iron garden sculpture cast by J. J. Ducel et Fils in Paris, in front of McNay Art Museum in San Antonio, Texas - Photo by: R. Katharine C. Nisson © 2010

P.S.- If this triggered anything for you and you’re feeling vulnerable or in need, please know there is also the option of therapy not only via telehealth, but via text as well through BetterHelp. More information on that in addition to how to potentially receive a scholarship to cover this can be found in my last issue linked here.

Glimmer Nest is a safe space where we respect each other's privacy and experiences. While I share my personal journey, please remember that this isn't professional medical advice. Always consult with your healthcare provider for medical concerns.