VOICE

Be you when you whisper, be you when you shout

Your voice is important—let it all out.

DIFFERENT PATHS TO SILENCE

We don't all lose our voice the same way. Some of us lose it suddenly—through trauma, violation, or a single devastating moment when speaking up costs us everything. Some of us lose it gradually—through a thousand small moments of being told we're too much or not enough.

It happens through a thousand small moments where we learn:

We don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, so we swallow our needs and say, “It’s fine.”
We’re told we’re too loud, too quiet, too much, or not enough, so we adjust.
We see that standing out draws criticism, so we blend in and hide the parts that make us different.
We feel our emotions might be “too much,” so we tone them down instead of letting them be heard.

THE FAWN RESPONSE

For some of us, losing our voice happened through people-pleasing to maintain connection.

Most people have heard of fight, flight, and freeze—the three stress responses we talk about most. There's a fourth: fawn. Fawning is when we appease, accommodate, and prioritize others' needs over our own to avoid conflict or rejection. We become agreeable, helpful, easy. We say yes when we mean no. We laugh at jokes that aren't funny. We go along to get along.

Some of us learned early that disagreeing, saying no, or expressing needs could cost us connection. Maybe we had a parent who withdrew love when we were "difficult." Maybe we had friends who dropped us when we stopped performing the role they wanted. Maybe we had a partner who punished honesty with anger or silence. Whatever the origin, the lesson was clear: being easy is better than being honest. Being liked is more important than being known.

Often, being low-maintenance feels like an accomplishment. Being flexible feels like a virtue. Being easy feels like winning. Until it doesn't.

We wear low-maintenance like a badge of honor because we've learned that having needs makes us difficult. Having preferences makes us demanding. Having boundaries makes us high-maintenance and high-maintenance is the worst thing we can be.

So we become chameleons. We adapt. We accommodate. We tell ourselves this is generosity, flexibility, being a good partner, being a team player. We tell ourselves this is love.

But after years of asking "What do they want me to say?" instead of "What do I actually think?", we lose access to our own opinions. Someone asks what we want for dinner and we genuinely don't know, not because we don't care, but because we've trained ourselves to want whatever causes the least friction. We've practiced ignoring our preferences for so long that the signal has gone quiet.

We've become so good at reading the room that we've forgotten how to read ourselves. And when we can't access what we think, we can't speak it. Our voice doesn't disappear because we're being kind—it disappears because we've practiced silence for so long, we've forgotten what our real voice sounds like.

THE SPECIFIC WAYS WE SILENCE OURSELVES

We've gotten creative about the ways we silence ourselves. Here are some of the patterns I've noticed in myself and others:

Softening: We add qualifiers to make our statements less assertive. "I might be wrong, but..." "This is probably a stupid question, but..." "I don't know if this makes sense, but..." We apologize before we've said anything worth apologizing for. We diminish our own ideas before anyone else can.

Deflecting: Someone gives us a compliment and we immediately redirect it to someone else or brush it off. "Oh, it was nothing." "Anyone could have done it." "I just got lucky." We can't even receive kind words without silencing their impact.

Laughing it off: Someone says something that hurts and instead of addressing it, we laugh. We make a joke. We minimize our own hurt to make the other person more comfortable. "Ha, yeah, I know, I'm the worst!" when what we really want to say is, "That actually really hurt."

Over-explaining: We give elaborate justifications for simple statements. We can't just say no—we have to provide a dissertation on why we're saying no, as if our "no" isn't enough on its own. We can't just express a preference—we have to prove it's reasonable.

Asking permission: "Is it okay if I say something?" "Can I just mention one thing?" We ask for permission to take up space that's already ours. We treat our own voice like an imposition.

Staying positive: We've learned that negative emotions make people uncomfortable, so we suppress them. We say "I'm fine" when we're not. We smile through frustration. We keep our pain private because we don't want to be a burden. We silence the full range of our human experience.

Each of these patterns served us and that’s why they developed. They kept us safe, kept us liked, kept us from being "too much." But they also keep us small. They keep us silent. They keep us from being fully known.

REFLECTION QUESTIONS

The path back to voice starts with understanding how we lost it. Because the way forward is different depending on how we got here. But regardless of how we lost our voice, the work is the same: speaking anyway. Even when it's hard. Even when it shakes. Even when we're not sure anyone's listening.

When did you first learn that your voice was too much, too loud, or unwelcome?
Who taught you to be quiet? What did they say or do?
Where do you still stay silent to keep the peace?
With whom do you edit yourself most? What are you afraid will happen if you speak freely?
When was the last time you said something true that scared you? What happened?
What would it feel like to speak without editing, softening, or apologizing?
Who in your life has earned the right to hear your real voice?

Practice 1: Unspoken words journal

Each day this week, write down one sentence you didn't say but wish you had.

At the end of the week, read them all aloud to yourself—even if no one else hears. This is practice giving your words sound.

Practice 2: Throat connection

Put your hand gently on your throat. Feel the warmth of your palm. Breathe slowly.

Whisper your name. Feel the vibration under your hand. Say your name at normal volume. Feel the vibration grow stronger. Say it louder. Notice the sensation.

Now say one true thing you rarely say aloud:

"I matter."
"My no is enough."
"I deserve to take up space."

Say it three times, each time a little louder. Put your hand back on your throat after and notice: does it feel different?

Practice 3: The no practice

This week, say no to something small and low-stakes. No long explanation. No apology. Just no.

Examples:

"No thanks, I don't need a bag."
"No, I can't take that on right now."
"No, that doesn't work for me."

Notice what happens in your body before, during, and after. Notice if the world ends. (Spoiler: it won't.)