Unmuted
This is part of the “Staying with Yourself" series, a real-time reflection on the quiet, in-between spaces of personal growth. You are showing up even on the days when nothing feels urgent, and no one’s asking how you are doing. It’s quieter now but it’s real.
I've felt that quiet, the kind that
doesn’t restore you, but drains you, like you’ve left pieces of yourself
scattered across conversations where you chose peace over truth. It creeps
in so gradually, doesn’t it? At first, it’s just smoothing rough edges in one
conversation, then softening your opinions in another, until one day, you
realize you’ve become fluent in a language of half-truths and swallowed words,
a language that no longer sounds like your own.
The math seems so simple at first. Stay
agreeable, keep things harmonious, don’t rock the boat, but the equation never
accounts for what gets lost in the process, the slow erosion of your voice,
your boundaries, and your sense of self. It’s the quiet sacrifice, the one you
make thinking it’s temporary, but nothing fades slowly enough to stay
unnoticed.
We tell ourselves it’s maturity, this
ability to bend and to accommodate, that it's generosity to shrink yourself so
others can feel bigger, but there’s a vast difference between thoughtful
compromise and slow disappearance. One leaves you whole while the other leaves
you invisible.
What would it feel like to speak
without first running your words through that internal filter, to let your
voice carry its natural weight as a presence that is unmuted, unedited, and
unapologetic, a voice that isn’t an apology, but a declaration?
The journey back doesn’t have to be
dramatic. Maybe it begins with one honest “Actually, I don’t prefer that”
instead of "Whatever you want is fine,” one moment where you allow your face to
show what you actually feel instead of what others expect to see, and one pause
where you breathe before you please.
There’s incredible power in reclaiming those small moments of authenticity, in remembering that you don’t have to earn the right to exist as you are, to take up space, to speak in your full voice without shrinking, and perhaps the most powerful thing, when you return to yourself, you invite others to do the same. Your honesty becomes a refuge, your presence, a mirror, and your truth, a quiet revolution.
If this landed with
you, share it with someone else moving through a quiet season or save it for
the next day the silence gets loud again. Either way, stay close. This is just
the beginning.
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