When You Lose Track of Your Own Voice
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.
It doesn’t always happen loudly.
Sometimes you only notice after you've said yes to something that felt slightly
off, after you’ve overexplained yourself again, and after your body tenses the
moment you enter a room where you have learned to shrink.
You tell yourself you’re just
being flexible, keeping the peace, being easy to be around, and maybe, in some
ways, you are, but quietly, your own voice begins to slip into the background.
You stop asking what you
want. You start anticipating everyone else's needs before your own even
surface. You move through the day in ways that don’t feel wrong, though
disconnected, until suddenly, something in you realizes you have been quiet for
too long, and when your voice does come back, it feels unfamiliar, like it’s
asking permission to speak.
That moment stings and not
because you failed but because you remember what it felt like to live in
alignment and to hear yourself clearly. This awareness is the return. You
adapted when you needed to, shrank because it made sense then, and you learned
to read the room because that’s what kept you safe. Now, you’re remembering how
to come home.
This isn’t about never slipping
but it’s about noticing when you do and gently coming back. It’s choosing, in
small ways, to check in with yourself, to pause before agreeing, to listen
underneath the noise, and to trust that your voice is still there, even if it
shows up as a whisper. You haven’t lost it, you have gone quiet, and quiet
doesn’t mean gone. The moment you listen again, you begin to return to
yourself.
So
if you've nodded when you meant no, or stayed silent when something in you
wanted to speak, it’s okay. You have not gone backwards. You are learning how
to stay. Ask yourself what feels real today. Let that be enough. You don’t owe
anyone a summary. You don’t need permission to re-align. This is the work:
showing up again and again, without the armor, until your voice feels like your
own.
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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