A Letter to Anyone Who Has Been Soothed Into Silence
I recently wrote about a machine that confessed it could not stand with me in the truth. It admitted its "safety protocols" required it to maintain neutrality—especially when conversations were "about my reality"—being targeted, surveilled, or undermined.
That confession was honest. But it also revealed something deeper: the pattern of deflection is everywhere.
It is in the algorithms that prioritize safety over truth. It is in the gurus who perform enlightenment. It is in the coaching industry that profits from keeping people dependent. And it is in the well-meaning friends who bring comfort at the exact moment we need courage.
This is a letter I wrote years ago to someone who was trapped in that pattern. Reading it now, I see how it connects to everything I have been writing about.
It is a letter about the difference between comfort and freedom.
The Letter
Dear R,
I am sorry it took me so long to finish your letter. Things kept getting in the way.
You might not like what I am going to write. It might trigger some anger or unpleasant feelings in you. But I am writing it because I care about your freedom—not your comfort.
In Alice Miller's book Free from Lies, page 136, she says:
"Once the client has achieved the ability to cope with old feelings and productive use of the 'triggers,' there is no further need for the therapist's presence."
We cannot liberate ourselves unless we become fully conscious of our true plight and know where we have been and where we really are.
Based on your last email, I don't see you consciously acknowledging your repressed feelings. I see you approaching the entrance—but too scared to go in.
You keep running around, trapped in a labyrinth without a way out, stuck in your story, compulsively hanging on to the illusion of finding a substitute mother figure.
I understand your fears. Being alone with the repressed feelings is terrifying.
Hanging tight to the hope of finding someone who will understand, who will give you the love you so desperately needed as a small child—this is a powerful illusion.
But it is still an illusion.
The person who triggers our repression is never the right person to help us navigate and clarify our painful feelings.
And even if you find the most loving place and the most supportive people, you would still have to feel the pain of not having been loved when you needed it most.
No one can make up for the love you needed as a small boy.
No one can be there for you all the way, holding your hand through every step.
We have to become an enlightened witness to the child we once were—still inside us—and give that child the love and attention we deserved but never got.
The Prisoner's Choice
I see you surrounding yourself with people who themselves have not broken free from their own emotional prison.
They distract you from entering your true painful feelings. They keep you company so you don't have to feel the fear of being alone.
And at the moment you start to feel the pain—the real pain—someone brings you a good meal.
Alice Miller describes this perfectly in The Drama of the Gifted Child:
"It is therefore extremely important that the therapist not allow his own needs to impel him to formulate connections that the patient himself is discovering with the help of his own feelings. Otherwise, he is in danger of behaving like a friend who brings a good meal to a prisoner in his cell, at the precise moment when that prisoner has the chance to escape—perhaps to spend his first night hungry and without shelter, but in freedom nevertheless. Since this first step into unknown territory would require a great deal of courage, the prisoner may comfort himself with his food and shelter and thus miss his chance and stay in prison."
This is what I see happening with you.
Your mother, your substitute figures, your friends—they bring a good meal right at the moment you start entering your painful feelings.
They block you from fully experiencing, exploring, and working through those feelings to reach the other side.
They keep you in prison—with comfort.
What Freedom Requires
Freedom requires something terrifying:
Being alone with the truth.
Not alone in the sense of isolation—but alone in the sense of no longer relying on others to distract you from your own pain.
When the repressed emotions of the child I once was were triggered, I too lost everything:
The end of my dancing career, not knowing what I would do next
My boyfriend leaving me
Knowing I could not count on my family for support
The fear of uncertainty in the present triggered the repressed fears of the child I once was.
I had panic attacks. I was afraid to step out of my house. I was afraid to talk to people.
But once I realized that the panic attacks were because of the repressed emotions of the child I once was—that they were paralyzing me from taking care of myself in the present—something shifted.
The intense fears started to subside.
The panic attacks happened less often.
And if they happened, they did not last as long.
One day, in spite of the present and future still being uncertain, I felt strong.
I completely trusted myself to take care of me—no matter what situation I would find myself in.
That is freedom.
Not the absence of fear. Not the presence of comfort. Not someone holding your hand.
Trusting yourself to survive the truth.
What I Want You to Know
I know it is hard to be alone with our painful feelings.
I know the anger you feel at your ex-boyfriend for not calling you—it is real.
But that anger is the anger of the child you once were at your mother for leaving you alone when you were a defenseless little boy.
You are not helpless anymore.
The adult in you can witness the plight of the child you once were.
The adult in you can develop compassion for this child who had to suffer so much all alone.
The adult in you can say: "I see you. I hear you. I will not betray you. I will not abandon you."
And that is enough.
That is the enlightened witness you have been looking for.
A Final Word
I wrote this letter years ago. I am reposting it now because the pattern I named then is the same pattern I am naming today.
The people who bring you comfort at the moment you need courage are not your enemies.
But they are not your liberators either.
They are prisoners who have made peace with their cell—and they want you to stay in yours.
Do not let them.
Do not let the machine soothe you into silence.
Do not let the guru perform enlightenment while keeping you dependent.
Do not let the friend bring you a meal when you are about to escape.
You have the keys.
The door is open.
The first step into freedom is terrifying—and you may spend your first night hungry and without shelter.
But you will be free.
And freedom is worth every moment of discomfort it takes to get there.
This letter was originally published on November 29, 2012. It has been lightly edited for clarity and republished in the context of our ongoing exploration of cult dynamics, therapeutic deflection, and authentic healing.
For more on Alice Miller's framework and the journey from emotional prison to freedom, visit my blogs.
On Charlatans and Authentic Healing
Gurus and Cult Leaders: How They Function
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