I was taught a high level of reservation back in Africa.
Not silence, but restraint. A sense that not everything that happens in your life is meant to be spoken out loud, especially to people who are not part of your inner circle.
Now I find myself in a different culture where almost anything can be said in passing.
At Walmart, in a line, someone might casually say, “My wife is going through the same thing, she was just diagnosed with cancer.” No hesitation. No pause. As if personal history can sit comfortably between grocery carts and checkout lines.
And I sometimes find myself asking quietly: who asked for this level of detail?
Not out of judgment, but out of confusion.
Because I am used to a different rhythm.
Even overhearing conversations can feel unfamiliar. A spouse on the phone might start with “I’m going to see my dad,” and then continue into diagnoses, medications, history; details that feel deeply personal being shared in full volume with someone outside the immediate circle.
And I think again: who was that for?
Where I come from, things were often contained. Not hidden, but held.
Trips were not announced in full detail. Neighbors might only see you leave after you had gone, and see you return when you returned. Life was not always performed in real time for the outside world.
There was a sense that privacy was protection, not secrecy.
Now, I am learning that some cultures process life differently.
In some places, speaking is connection. Sharing is bonding. Disclosing is how people relate, how they soften distance, how they make meaning of experience.
But even with understanding, I still carry my internal question:
Does everything need to be spoken?
And slowly, I am realizing something important.
There is wisdom in discretion.
Not everything spoken is necessary. Not everything known needs to be broadcast. Not every moment of life is meant to be expanded into an audience.
Because once something is spoken, it no longer belongs only to you in the same way.
And in a world that speaks freely, perhaps the skill is not silence—but discernment.
Knowing what to share, what to hold, and what to let pass without turning it into an open story.
As it is written in thought and faith alike:
wisdom is not only in what you say, but in what you choose not to release.
There is a kind of strength in that.
A quiet strength.
Not hiding. Not fear.
Just wisdom in discretion.
By Joan Roberts
