Blog: Speak Only When Asked!

The phrase “Speak only when asked” is not an instruction to hide. It’s a survival rule born from lived experience—a defense against rejection and indifference

By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden

The Silent Weight of Human Pain

In an age of hyperconnectivity—where social media profiles pulse with constant updates and messaging apps blink with digital life—it’s astonishing how lonely, unheard, and unseen many people still feel. Amidst all this noise, a quiet but powerful idea has taken root in hearts across generations and cultures:

“Never tell your pain unless someone asks. If they ask, it means they care.”

This adage, passed down like a sacred rule of emotional survival, feels both protective and isolating. It seems to suggest that sharing should be earned, not offered freely. But what lies behind this idea? Is it about emotional boundaries or emotional neglect? Is silence a mark of strength—or of a society that’s untrained in compassion?

In this article, we delve into the psychological, cultural, and social dimensions of this philosophy. Through stories from Sindh’s villages and cities, expert insights, and modern dilemmas, we explore: Is silence safety—or is it a scream no one hears?

The Psychology of Withholding Pain: Protecting the Vulnerable Self

Clinical psychologists have long studied the dynamics of emotional sharing. According to Dr. Amina Shah, a Karachi-based therapist specializing in trauma and emotional processing, sharing pain is a deeply vulnerable act. “People who’ve had their feelings dismissed or judged in the past often build invisible walls,” she explains. “They learn that unsolicited honesty can backfire, resulting in apathy, trivialization, or worse, mockery.”

This is not just anecdotal. A 2020 study by the American Psychological Association revealed that individuals are significantly more likely to share emotional burdens when they feel the receiver is emotionally available. This process is both conscious and subconscious—a sort of emotional filter. Only those who ask, who show genuine concern, are granted access to someone’s inner struggles.

In other words, silence isn’t always repression. Sometimes, it’s protection.

The Question That Unlocks Pain: “Are You Okay?”

It’s a simple sentence—three words that hold the power to crack emotional dams wide open: Are you okay?

In Sindh, particularly among male circles where emotional openness is often overshadowed by rigid gender roles, such a question can be deeply intimate. It is rarely asked casually. When it is, it’s often revolutionary.

In Larkana, Saeed, a soft-spoken 21-year-old student who lost his father during the COVID-19 pandemic. According to him, “I didn’t tell anyone,” he shared. “Everyone was going through something. Why add my sorrow to their pile?”

Then one day, his close friend Asad called him out of the blue. “‘Tun theek aan?’ he asked—just like that,” Saeed recalls, eyes glassy. “And I just broke down. It was the first time I allowed myself to cry in front of someone.”

The act of asking—especially in cultures where emotional conversations are rare—signals more than curiosity. It represents love, presence, and emotional literacy. It tells the other person: You are not a burden.

Cultural Norms and Emotional Silence: A Story from Shahdadkot

In rural areas of Sindh, especially in towns like Shahdadkot and Dadu, social and familial expectations make emotional sharing even harder, particularly for women. Cultural honor codes, collective judgment, and internalized shame form a thick fog around vulnerability.

Nasreen, a 34-year-old mother of three, had been enduring domestic violence for nearly seven years. “I never told anyone,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not my mother, not even my sister. I thought: This is my fate.”

Everything changed when her cousin visited and asked gently, “Khair aa? Tu pehrann jehri na thy lageen?” (Is everything okay? You don’t seem like yourself.)

“That was the first time someone saw me,” Nasreen recalls. “That one question led to conversations, support, and eventually—help.” She now lives safely with her children and receives support from a women’s protection NGO in Hyderabad.

In such stories, silence is not passivity. It’s a forced habit shaped by environments where pain is invisible—until someone dares to ask.

Oversharing in the Digital Age: A Modern Cry for Connection

But on the flip side, urban youth today grapple with a different dilemma: oversharing. In cities like Karachi, Hyderabad, and Sukkur, many young people turn to Instagram stories, vague Facebook posts, or cryptic tweets to express emotional pain.

“Felt betrayed today. Tired of everything.”

“Some people only call when they need you.”

These posts float in the digital void, often without response. A 2021 survey by LUMS (Lahore University of Management Sciences) found that 62% of youth who shared emotional content online felt “ignored or misunderstood.” Rather than healing, this sharing often leads to more isolation, and sometimes even shame.

Why? Because many digital audiences are not emotionally equipped to respond meaningfully. The heartache gets lost in a sea of scrolling, reactions, and emoji replies. The unsaid rule echoes again: Speak only when someone asks.

Why We Don’t Ask: Emotional Illiteracy, Fear, and Cultural Caution

If asking “Are you okay?” is so powerful, why don’t more people ask it?

The reasons are complex. In conservative cultures like Pakistan’s, asking someone about their emotional state can feel invasive unless the relationship is particularly close. People fear being labeled as nosy, inappropriate, or “soft.” Especially among men, there’s often a fear of emotional confrontation—of opening a wound they’re not equipped to help heal.

There’s also the issue of emotional illiteracy—a widespread inability to name, process, or respond to emotions. Many people simply don’t know what to do with another person’s pain.

The result? A society where both asking and sharing become rare arts—until it’s too late.

Who Deserves Your Pain? The Ethics of Emotional Sharing

Pain is sacred. Like a precious story, it deserves to be told in the right setting, to the right ears. Sharing pain with someone who doesn’t understand—or worse, who weaponizes it—can feel like betrayal.

Yet, constant suppression can also be corrosive.

The challenge, then, is discernment—knowing who has earned the right to hear your truth. People who ask with sincerity, who follow up, who listen without trying to “fix” you—these are the people with whom healing can begin.

As one wise old man once said, “Galhyon kehan san b kare saghjan thyon, par dard unhan khe dasboo, jeko roshan aakhyoon rakhandar hujee.”

(You can talk to anyone, but pain is shown only to those who carry light in their eyes.)

Building a Culture That Listens

The phrase “Speak only when asked” is not an instruction to hide. It’s a survival rule born from lived experience—a defense against rejection and indifference. But in a world desperate for genuine connection, we must evolve beyond this silence.

We need to build cultures—families, communities, schools, workplaces—where emotional questions are not rare, but routine. Where people are trained not just to talk, but to ask. Where compassion is not an exception, but a habit.

So ask yourself:

• When was the last time you truly asked someone if they were okay?
• When was the last time you allowed someone to ask you?

The bridge between silence and healing is shorter than we think. Sometimes, it’s only three words away. Are you OK?

Let’s build a world where no one has to wait to be asked. And let’s also be wise enough to ask.

Read: The Velvet Whip of Wealth

________________

Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time.