Holding My Peace When Someone Wants to Break It

 

Sometimes I feel like keeping my peace takes more effort than anything else I do in a day. It’s not because I don’t want peace—I crave it. But when someone comes along armed with lies and manipulation, my autistic brain kicks into high gear.

Dealing with dishonesty feels personal. It digs under my skin because I thrive on truth and clarity. I can spend hours replaying their words, trying to make sense of what they said and why. My mind doesn’t let things slide easily, and sometimes, I wish it did.

The truth is, I don’t always handle these situations well. My emotions can get the better of me. It’s like my brain short-circuits, trying to find logic in something illogical, and before I know it, I’m caught in a loop of frustration.

But I’m learning to take a breath (and say a prayer) before I respond—or not respond at all. I’m realizing I don’t have to engage with every lie or accusation thrown my way. It’s not my job to prove anyone wrong, even when it feels like I should.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Turning the other cheek when someone is baiting me feels like going against my instincts. I want to fight for the truth, to defend myself, but I’m starting to see that reacting only gives them power—and they don’t deserve that from me. The only exception is when they attack my integrity, character, or credibility—then, I feel compelled to stand my ground.

I try to remind myself of something my faith has taught me: peace isn’t given, it’s protected. It’s on me to decide what’s worth my energy. When I can stay calm—when I can let their words pass without sinking in—I feel closer to God and the person I want to be.

But I’m not perfect. Sometimes I snap, and then I beat myself up for falling into the trap. Those moments remind me that this is a process, not a switch I can flip. Progress doesn’t come overnight, and I’ve had to be patient with myself.

Being autistic adds another layer to this. My brain is always working overtime to make sense of people and their motives, and when someone is being deliberately deceptive, it feels like a personal attack on my ability to navigate the world. But maybe that’s why I feel so strongly about holding my peace—it’s a way to take back control of what I can.

I’m still figuring it out, one situation at a time. Some days, I get it right. Other days, I’m humbled by how far I still have to go. But every time I take a breath, walk away, and trust God to handle what I can’t, I feel a little stronger.

If you’re someone who struggles with this too, just know you’re not alone. It’s hard, but we can get there. One step, one breath, one prayer at a time.