I had two dirty chai lattes in a row this morning, and I am sitting here lamenting the lack of wisdom in that decision. My pulse is through the roof, and my thoughts are racing faster than they usually do. I am thinking about all the things that need to be done, while probably forgetting about a whole bunch of them too. I’m in a cafe, and the sun is bright, and I am happy, apprehensive, conscious, aware. Of what you ask? Of the world around me. Of the thoughts you are thinking. Of the things you didn’t say.

I’m thinking about that now, of the things that go unsaid. Sometimes I dream about things I did not say, do not say, or will never say. Literally dream of them. Usually made even more vivid when I take 3mg of melatonin before sleeping. I wake up knowing I was sweating because I go to bed with straight, blow-dried hair and wake up with curly roots. It is frustrating and annoying and people who want curly hair really do not know the amount of work that goes into it. Anyway. I sweat because my dreams are always so active, I’m always doing some kind of running, whether away from or to something, but I am always running. One day I’d like to dream about lounging on a beach, with a drink in one had and a book in another. Just a whole night dreaming about me not doing a single thing, nary a thought in my empty head. That really is the dream, figuratively, in case you didn’t catch that. Anyway, sometimes I think some things are better off not being spoken out loud. The spoken word has no delete button, no erasures; once released, the things you speak fly into the ether, whether they reach their intended audience or not. There they hang, loosely floating like dead skin and dust illuminated by this one sliver of light piercing through a dark room.

And then I think about those things that need to be said, whether by yours truly or by you. Do you have anything you want to say? To me? To that person beside you? To the person you’re thinking about this very moment? The things that need to be said are the things that give life and not take away. The words that help seeds bloom and fruits to ripen. Not for the sake of closure (because really, what is closure? Nothing closes. Everything is always a continuing story, because for as long as you are breathing your story does not end. Sometimes not even then! Anyway.)—but for the sake of healing. Say things so that they don’t fester and get infected, like a wound oozing with green pus and smelling like decay. Give it light, give it air, your speaking them can sometimes be an antiseptic—which by the way has got to be the most important thing that has been invented. Before antiseptics, simple wounds could kill us. Mothers didn’t leave labor rooms. Amputees don’t get up again. Thank God for antiseptics.

So yes, naming things is an antiseptic for your heart. Sometimes my daughter gets anxious for no reason and I tell her to name the feeling, say it out loud. I am angry because so and so. I am sad because so and so. I am frustrated because so and so. But also I tell her that the reasons are not necessary. I am sad. I am angry. I am bewildered. Sometimes that is enough, naming them is enough, because then the feelings are not strangers, but familiar bedfellows that have helped us grow and learn and become who we are today. It’s not always easy because she is seven years old, and sometimes she chooses to cry and whine instead of naming her feelings. Which then results to me naming my feelings just so I can cope with all the whining and crying, my least favorite things in the world. I am angry, I am frustrated, I am at my wit’s end.

How do we know then, when to speak and when to remain silent? I don’t actually really know the correct answer to that, I just know the thing I live by. And the thing I live by is to ask why. Why do I want to say it? To hurt someone? To justify an action? To get credit for something? Sometimes the answer to all the questions is “yes”. I sharpen my words faithfully, like a butcher, just sharpening every day, ready to slice and cut and separate meat from bone. But in some ways I sharpen them like a sculptor’s chisel, ready to create, and form, and gently chip away at the unnecessary until all I have left is living proof of the image in my head.

After I have asked all the Why Questions I can and answered in all honesty, I have just one more question to ask: Is it the the loving thing to do? Not because I am some saintly image of what a christian should be, but precisely the opposite. I am entirely aware of my ability to destroy, as destruction through words is so much easier. I force myself to act against my impulses of wanting to be justified, or credited, or seek revenge even, by asking myself if what I have to say is the loving path to take. It has never failed me before. When I do fail, it’s when I do not ask those questions, or when I do not answer honestly.

Whatever it is you have decided to do, may the words you speak always bring life to those around you. There is far too much death in the world today. Some gentleness would be much appreciated.