(An act of healing, not hate)
There are names we simply don’t speak.
Names that, although ordinary, carry such heavy emotional weight that saying them aloud feels like reopening old wounds.
For a long time, I’ve avoided saying the name of Jonathan’s father.
Some might think it’s because of resentment, hatred, or immaturity.
But it’s not.
Today, I want to share the truth — from the place of peace that has taken me years to find.
I don’t say his name because I choose not to give him power over my present.
Each letter of his name echoes with screams, tears, and moments that nearly broke me.
It’s not fear. It’s not hate.
It’s a conscious choice to protect my peace.
To say his name would be like inviting pain to sit at my table again.
And in my home, there’s only space for love, peace, and people who add light — not those who took it away.
It may sound extreme, but those who’ve walked through dark valleys will understand this:
Sometimes, silencing a name is an act of courage.
In fact, while reflecting on this, I couldn’t help but think of something from Harry Potter.
Yes, that magical story we all know and love holds a fascinating detail.
Voldemort was rarely called by his name.
People referred to him as “He Who Must Not Be Named.”
Many did it out of fear, yes — but there’s something deeper behind it: refusing to give him more power than he already held.
And though my life isn’t a fantasy story filled with wands and spells, I fully understand that symbolic gesture.
Today, I know that not every name needs to be spoken.
Some names are better left in the past — where they belong.
Not saying his name doesn’t mean I deny my story.
It means I’ve chosen to keep the lessons, not the poison.
I’ve chosen to release the weight but never forget the strength I gained.
Because some names stop hurting the moment we stop saying them.
And that, too, is self-love.
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