Personal Admissions

"The Voice I Finally Recognized as My Own"

I was talking to my mother when I heard it; this weird, overly cheerful tone coming out of my mouth, like I was a customer service representative for my own life. 

"Everything's great! Work is wonderful!"

None of it was true.

For years, I said what I thought people wanted to hear. I edited myself constantly, watching faces for approval and adjusting mid-sentence. I said "it's fine" when it wasn't. I said "whatever works for you" so often that I forgot what actually worked for me.

Somewhere along the way, I started believing that peace was the same thing as silence, that kindness meant keeping myself small.

When my therapist asked, "What do you actually want right now?" I had no idea. I could tell her what I should want, but what I genuinely wanted? That information was buried so deep I couldn't access it anymore.

Smallness has a weight to it and when you shrink for too long, you start to disappear from your own life.

I began noticing it everywhere; my laugh changed depending on who I was with, I asked questions instead of sharing thoughts, I walked away from conversations feeling hollow. I'd built a life full of connection that somehow left me lonely.

My real voice, when I finally heard it, was much quieter than all those performed versions. It said things like "I don't know" and "that doesn't feel right." It admitted confusion. It wasn't impressive or wise. Sometimes it was petty or uncertain or just plain boring.

But it was mine.

The shift started with small moments: disagreements I didn't back down from, saying "I actually don't feel that way" to someone who expected me to agree. Each time I spoke from somewhere honest, I felt both terrified and free.

Learning to use this voice has been awkward. I've disappointed people who were used to me always saying yes. I've looked stupid asking basic questions. But something strange happened: I stopped feeling so exhausted all the time. Turns out, performing seventeen different versions of yourself takes a lot of energy.

These days, I catch myself before I start softening my words. I ask: Is this true, or is it convenient? Most of the time, that one question changes everything.

I'm still figuring out what my actual voice sounds like. Some days I slip back into performance mode, but I'm learning to pause and listen for the quiet voice underneath.

I don't want a voice that pleases everyone. I want a voice that feels like home… one that says no when it needs to, that laughs the same way in every room, that doesn't check for permission before speaking.

Your real voice might not sound like you expected. Mine is less polished, more uncertain. Sometimes it says the wrong thing. But it's real, and real is so much better than right.

If you've lost your own voice somewhere along the way, it's just waiting for you to start listening again.

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