Learning to Speak the Language of Your Own Needs
There’s a certain kind of silence that doesn’t come from peace —
it comes from survival.
For many incest survivors, romantic relationships can feel like walking into a room without a voice.
The longing for closeness is there. The ache for connection is real.
But when it’s time to speak — to name what you need, want, or expect — the words get caught in the throat.
They come out shaky, tangled in shame and self-doubt.
Or they don’t come out at all.
This silence is not a flaw.
It is the echo of what once kept you safe.
And here, at Holey House, we name that silence with reverence —
so we can begin, together, to gently unravel it.
Silence Was Taught, Not Chosen
In homes where incest took root, children learned early that speaking truth could cost them everything.
That being seen could invite harm.
That voicing discomfort, fear, or confusion would be twisted, punished, or ignored.
So silence became the only safe language.
Compliance became protection.
And the body learned to whisper, “Survive first. Feel later.”
Years later, when love appears — when a partner seems kind, when vulnerability feels possible — that same programming resurfaces:
“Don’t ask for too much.”
“Stay small. Stay agreeable. Don’t make them angry.”
This isn’t brokenness.
It’s the residue of a survival strategy that worked.
Until now.
Needs Were Once Dangerous
In the world of incest, having needs was punished.
Wanting safety was met with betrayal.
Expressing discomfort was seen as disobedience.
So the child learns: “Needing is dangerous.”
They grow into an adult who apologizes for taking up space — who mistakes boundaries for selfishness and self-expression for rebellion.
Even something as simple as saying, “I feel lonely,” can stir up waves of shame.
Because deep down, they were trained to believe that needing anything at all made them unlovable.
But here is the truth:
Having needs doesn’t make you needy.
It makes you human.
The Fear of Being Left
When love once meant abandonment, every new connection can feel like a test.
A survivor might hold back their truth, afraid that if they speak it, they’ll be left again.
The fear whispers, “If I show them who I am, they’ll go.”
And so, instead of asking for reassurance, you pretend you’re fine.
Instead of saying “I need you,” you withdraw.
Instead of setting a boundary, you over-give — hoping love will feel safe if you just earn it hard enough.
But silence doesn’t protect love.
It only suffocates it.
True love doesn’t vanish when you speak.
It listens.
And the right people won’t leave when you tell the truth — they’ll lean in closer.
Love and Obligation Got Confused
In an incestuous home, love was distorted into obedience.
Affection was tangled with coercion.
You learned to prove your worth through compliance — to make yourself small to stay connected.
So when someone today asks, “What do you need?”
it doesn’t always feel kind.
It feels suspicious.
Like a trick.
Because in the past, needing something always came with a price.
But love isn’t earned through silence.
It’s nurtured through honesty.
And learning that truth is both terrifying and liberating.
When the Body Doesn’t Feel Safe to Speak
Even in a kind, healthy relationship, your body might not know that it’s safe yet.
Your heart says, “I trust them.”
But your body still whispers, “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t feel.”
That’s not resistance — that’s protection.
Your nervous system remembers every moment when speaking led to pain.
So when you try to express a need and suddenly freeze, shake, or dissociate,
please don’t call yourself broken.
Your body is simply doing what it was trained to do:
keep you alive.
The work now is not to force your voice out —
but to remind your body it’s finally safe to be heard.
Boundaries Feel Both Sacred and Scary
For many survivors, boundaries don’t feel like safety — they feel like risk.
Because once upon a time, “no” wasn’t honored.
“Stop” wasn’t safe.
And speaking up only made things worse.
So now, when you try to say, “That hurts,” or “I don’t want that,”
your body floods with fear.
You might freeze, fawn, or collapse under the weight of old memories.
But boundaries are not walls.
They are sacred invitations.
They tell others how to love you — and tell your inner child, “I will never abandon you again.”
The Struggle for Control and Trust
In incest, control was taken.
Choices were stolen.
The child learned to surrender power just to survive.
So when adulthood arrives, the survivor clings to control — sometimes even in love.
Not to dominate, but to stay safe.
Because trusting anyone feels like standing unarmed in the place you once bled.
And when you finally try to let go,
the body remembers what happened the last time it did.
Trust takes time.
Safety takes repetition.
And you have every right to move at your own pace.
The Fear of Being Hurt Again
Even in moments of calm, your body might anticipate chaos.
A shift in tone, a missed text, a delayed response —
your nervous system lights up like an alarm: “It’s happening again.”
It’s not paranoia.
It’s memory.
But you are not that child anymore.
You have choices now.
And slowly, you can teach your body that love doesn’t have to hurt.
Healing is not about never being triggered.
It’s about recognizing the trigger and choosing gentleness instead of punishment.
The Journey Back to Voice
Learning to speak your needs after incest is like learning a language that was forbidden.
At first, it feels foreign.
Awkward. Clumsy.
But each word spoken — no matter how shaky — is an act of reclamation.
Each boundary set is a declaration: “My voice matters.”
Each need named is a prayer for freedom.
It doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens slowly, with therapy, with patience, with love that doesn’t flinch at the truth.
Here’s what healing sounds like:
“I need reassurance.”
“I want to feel emotionally safe.”
“I deserve respect.”
“I am allowed to take up space.”
Every sentence like that is a brick in the home you’re rebuilding inside yourself.
A Blessing for the Survivor Finding Their Voice
May your voice return softly at first,
like a bird that’s been quiet too long.
May you trust that your needs are not too much.
That your truth will not destroy love — it will purify it.
May you remember that silence once kept you safe,
but truth is what will set you free.
And may you come to know, deep in your bones,
that you are worthy of a love that listens,
a love that stays,
a love that never asks you to disappear.
You are not too needy. You are healing.
And here, your voice is welcome.
Always.