MIDNIGHT REFLECTION: You Have the Right to Remain Silent: Moving Quietly Through Your Successes

Dr. Carmela Maxell: Welcome back to Rooted in Rising. I'm Dr. Carmela Maxwell. Today's Midnight Reflection is called, You have the right to remain silent, moving quietly through your successes. Now, before you hear that title and think I'm about to tell you to hide your accomplishments or make yourself smaller, I'm not. This isn't an episode about shrinking. It's not about pretending your victories don't matter. It's not about denying yourself the joy of celebrating. It's about something much different. It's about protecting the parts of your life that are still becoming. Because somewhere along the way, many of us were taught that every milestone deserves an audience. Every promotion deserves a Facebook post. Every accomplishment deserves an announcement. Every dream deserves to be shared before it's even had a chance to grow roots. And if I'm being honest, I had to learn this lesson myself. I've shared exciting news with people who celebrated me in ways I'll never forget. I've also shared exciting news with people who barely looked up from their phones. People who said, ⁓ that's nice. Cool. Or my personal favorite, they immediately changed the subject. If you've ever walked away from sharing one of your proudest moments feeling smaller instead of bigger, this conversation is for you. Maybe you've been there. Maybe you finally finished your degree. Maybe you bought your first home. Maybe you got engaged. Maybe you landed the promotion. Maybe you paid off debt. Maybe you finally had the courage to leave a relationship that wasn't healthy. Or maybe you accomplished something that nobody else could even see. Maybe you got out of bed after months of depression. Maybe you made it 30 days sober. Maybe you finally decided to start therapy. Not every victory comes with applause. Some victories are invisible, but they matter just the same. Eventually I realized the disappointment wasn't really about the accomplishment. It was about who I hoped would celebrate it. One of the hardest lessons adulthood has taught me is that not everyone has earned the privilege of hearing your good news. Now, before you misunderstand me, I'm not telling you to become secretive. I'm not telling you to stop celebrating. I'm asking you to become discerning. There's a difference. Because celebration is healthy. Validation is human. We are wired for connection. When something beautiful happens in our lives, we naturally want to share it with people we love. That's normal. That's human. The desire to celebrate isn't the problem. The problem is believing everyone has the emotional capacity to celebrate it with us. They don't. And sometimes It has absolutely nothing to do with us. Sometimes they're grieving. Sometimes they're overwhelmed. Sometimes they're struggling financially while you're celebrating a promotion. Sometimes they're wrestling with infertility while you're announcing a pregnancy. Sometimes they're quietly wondering why life seems to be working for everyone except them. Sometimes your joy accidentally brushes against someone else's wound. And that's painful for both of you. We make it personal. Here's what most of us do. Someone responds poorly to our success, and immediately we begin making it about ourselves. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Maybe I sounded arrogant. Maybe I'm doing too much. Maybe I made them uncomfortable. Maybe I should stop sharing. No. Sometimes the response has very little to do with you. Psychology teaches us that every single one of us experiences the world through our own lens, our experiences, our insecurities, our losses, our expectations. When someone hears your success, they don't hear it objectively. They hear it through their own story. That's why one person says, I'm so happy for you while another quietly responds Must be nice. The accomplishment didn't change. The lens did. Can I tell you something that took me far too long to learn? Not everybody who loves you knows how to celebrate you. Sit with that for a second. Because I wish someone had told me this years ago. Some people are incredible during your hardships. They'll bring you dinner when you're grieving, they'll answer the phone when you're crying. They'll sit with you in silence. But when Your life starts changing when opportunities begin showing up, when your confidence grows, when your hard work begins paying off, something shifts. Not because they stopped loving you, but because your growth quietly asks them to confront places where they may feel stuck. That's uncomfortable. Again. Not always because they're jealous. Sometimes because your success reminds them of dreams they quietly packed away. Dreams they convinced themselves were no longer possible. That's why I try to extend grace. Because comparison is a deeply human experience. We've all done it. We've all looked sideways instead of forward. We've all wondered why them? Instead of what can I learn? Interestingly, this isn't just emotional. It's psychological. Psychologist Peter Gallwitzer spent years studying what happens when people publicly announce their goals before they've accomplished them. What he found surprised a lot of people. When we publicly announce our goals, our brains can experience a premature sense of completion, almost as though we've already achieved part of what we set out to do. The recognition itself becomes rewarding. The applause comes before the work. And sometimes that actually reduces our motivation to continue. Think about how many times you've heard someone say, I'm going to write a book, I'm going to start a business, I'm going back to school, I'm going to lose 50 pounds. Those are wonderful goals. But sometimes talking about them gives us the emotional reward without requiring the discipline. And discipline is what changes lives, not announcements. Maybe the reason you're protecting your next dream isn't because you're afraid. Maybe it's because you finally learned that roots grow best underground. Not every dream needs applause before it becomes reality. Sometimes it just needs time. Now, I want to be really careful here. Because I don't want you walking away thinking I'm telling you to hide. I'm not. There's a difference between privacy and secrecy. Secrecy protects shame. Privacy protects peace. Let me say that again. Secrecy protects shame. Privacy protects peace. Sometimes the healthiest thing that you can do is allow something beautiful to grow. Before exposing it to everyone else's opinions. A seed doesn't become a tree overnight. It grows underground first. Quietly, unseen, without applause, without validation, without anyone posting about it. Maybe there's wisdom in that. Maybe some of the most sacred seasons of our lives need sunlight. Not spotlights. As we close today's midnight reflection, I want to leave you with one final thought. Moving quietly isn't about making yourself invisible. It's about becoming intentional. It's recognizing that not everyone has earned access to the most sacred parts of your journey. Some people will celebrate your victories. Some people won't understand them. Some people may even feel uncomfortable because your growth reminds them of where they stopped believing in themselves. Offer grace where you can. Protect your peace where you must. And remember, silence isn't always secrecy. Sometimes it's self-respect. If this episode spoke to you, I'd love for you to share it with someone who may need to hear it. You can also help Rooted in Rising continue to grow by following the podcast wherever you listen, leaving a review, and sharing these conversations with other with other people. And if you haven't yet, I'd love to invite you to check out my debut novel, Bereavement, available now in paperback on Amazon, on Kindle, and as an audiobook on Spotify. If you enjoy thought-provoking stories about grief, memory, love, and what it means to hold on to the people who shape us, I hope you'll add it to your reading list. Until next time, protect your peace. Keep growing. And remember, not everyone has earned a front row seat to your becoming. Remember to stay rooted in who you are and keep rising into who you're becoming. Take care.