There’s a list of feelings I was never supposed to have. Anger, grief, rage, desire — the kind that unsettles the people around you. The kind that don’t fit the neat boxes assigned to me. The kind that gets labeled “too much” or “unfeminine” or simply ignored.
For years, those feelings lived in silence. Hidden behind a polite smile, buried beneath words I never said, locked inside stories I didn’t dare write.
But writing taught me something radical: I could feel those things. I should feel those things. And more importantly, I could write through them.
When silence becomes a cage
Emotional repression is exhausting. It’s like carrying a secret language no one understands, even when it’s the loudest thing inside you.
In my books, especially in Miniature Novels II and Things You’ll Never Understand, characters carry that weight — the unspoken guilt, the anger that’s never safe to show, the heartbreak that breaks quietly.
Writing them was my way of cracking open the cage. Of turning invisible pain into visible stories. Of giving shape to feelings I wasn’t supposed to name.
There’s freedom in writing through forbidden feelings. In giving voice to rage, sorrow, and want without apology. It’s a rebellion against every rule that tried to teach me to be small, quiet, and agreeable. Against every moment I was told to “calm down” or “get over it.”
Through writing, I learned to embrace complexity — the messy, uncomfortable, beautiful chaos. I learned that stories don’t have to be tidy or pretty to be true.
Why this matters
Writing through repression isn’t just personal. It’s political. It’s a refusal to let pain be invisible. To let voices be silenced. It’s a way to invite readers into the parts of themselves they might be afraid to explore. To say, “You’re not alone. These feelings are real. And you have the right to claim them.” And if it’s through something I wrote, well, that’s just the cherry on top.
Throughout the years, I’ve learned that the things I wasn’t supposed to feel don’t control me anymore. They live on my pages, fierce and unapologetic. And through them, I found my truest freedom — the freedom to write without limits, without shame, and without silence.
— Montse
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