The Quiet Politics of Adjustment

Zehnayat – An Editorial By Aymen

The Quiet Politics of Adjustment

 There exists a form of politics that does not announce itself. It lives inside homes, family structures, and inherited expectations. It operates without meetings, without rules, without language — yet it governs behaviour with remarkable precision.

This is the politics of adjustment.

In many families, peace is not a shared responsibility. It is assigned. And more often than not, it is assigned to the woman who is newest, quietest, or most willing to keep the balance intact. She is expected to soften edges, absorb discomfort, and translate tension into silence — all in the name of harmony.

Adjustment, here, is not mutual. It is directional.

A woman is praised for being understanding when she overlooks inconsistency, for being mature when she suppresses hurt, and for being respectful when she chooses silence over truth. Her value is measured not by who she is, but by how seamlessly she fits into a structure that predates her.

The danger of such systems is subtle. Over time, endurance is reframed as virtue. Self-erasure becomes loyalty. And the absence of conflict is mistaken for emotional health.

Yet harmony built on silence is fragile.

There is a particular contradiction in asking someone to “treat us like your own” while withholding the safety that makes intimacy possible. Belonging cannot be demanded; it must be offered. Without trust, accountability, and emotional consistency, closeness becomes performance rather than connection.

When a woman eventually withdraws — not in anger, but in preservation — the narrative shifts. Her quiet is labelled distance. Her boundaries are misread as defiance. Her refusal to continue adjusting is seen as disruption rather than exhaustion.

What often goes unexamined is this: the system functioned smoothly when she was over giving.

Intuition, in these spaces, is frequently dismissed as mood or misinterpretation. But intuition is not random. It is pattern recognition. It forms when behaviour repeats, when empathy is uneven, when emotional labour flows in one direction only.

There comes a point where the body refuses further negotiation. The voice softens not out of submission, but clarity. Silence becomes less about pleasing others and more about protecting the self.

This is not rebellion. It is recognition.

A woman choosing herself does not destabilise healthy families. She exposes fragile ones. If peace requires her to shrink, then peace was never the true objective — compliance was.

Zehnayat believes that love should feel expansive, not surveilled. That respect does not demand disappearance. And that adjustment, when it costs identity, is not harmony — it is quiet harm.

There is dignity in stepping back. There is wisdom in no longer negotiating one’s humanity. And sometimes, the most radical act is not speaking louder — but refusing to disappear.

Written by Mehaya Safar

For Zehnayat - An Editorial