Learning to Use My Voice Again

Standing up for myself and using my voice has always been difficult for me. For most of my life, I stayed quiet even when I was hurt because I was afraid of confrontation, judgment, or being rejected for how I felt. I learned to swallow my feelings instead of speaking them, especially after opening up in the past and not always being met with care or understanding.

But one positive change that I’ve made has been using my voice again. I’m starting to open up, be honest about my feelings, and stand my ground instead of automatically becoming a pushover. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s shown me that I’m courageous and much tougher than I thought.

This change came from moments where I started noticing how often I would silence myself just to avoid discomfort. I would minimize my feelings, over-explain myself, or convince myself that what I was experiencing wasn’t “that serious.” But over time, I realized that constantly ignoring my own emotions was costing me my sense of self.

Growing up, one of my closest friends was my cousin. We would hang out all the time at each other’s houses, playing games, sharing secrets—we really became best friends. We’d go to our family’s cabin in Big Bear a lot. I remember sleeping by the fireplace because the rooms were always too cold, too musty, and uninviting. We’d try to stay up all night, hiding under the dining table, eavesdropping on our parents. I think our goal was also to surprise them and make them breakfast. Either way, it’s a memory I cherish.

But as we got older, her personality blossomed while mine stayed the same—quiet, shy, aloof. She made a lot of friends while I had very few. I remember one Fourth of July, we were getting ready to go to a parade. I didn’t realize she was bringing friends along—people I didn’t know. I’d felt unprepared. I didn’t know how to interact very well with new people. It was hard to understand why I was like that, why I couldn’t navigate social situations like she could. I was in my head too much, thinking I was the problem because I felt so awkward around her friends.

In that moment, I shared my feelings of insecurity and maybe even jealousy because I felt left out. My cousin practically ignored me, and her friends made fun of me, teasing me about how “weird” I was. It was awful. I had expressed how I felt and I was met with humiliation. They went to the parade without me. I was left behind, completely hurt.

That situation stayed with me. It made me realize it wasn’t safe to express myself. It made me feel like people didn’t care the way I did. And it also made me feel like vulnerability meant pain.

I had another similar experience with a friend I was very close to. We were practically inseparable throughout our twenties. He truly was my best friend. I loved everything about him—his humor, his big personality, his laughter, his comfortability. From the moment I met him, his personality felt warm and inviting, like I’d known him for years. We shared a lot of fun times together, but as the friendship went on, something changed.

We hit a wall. I opened up to a friend about how I was feeling upset with him. I felt jealousy because everyone praised him for graduating college at the time, while I had graduated and never got a “proud of you.” It always felt like it was about him—how he felt, what he needed—but never anything in return for me.

That friend told him what I said. The next day I woke up to some nasty messages. He told me he didn’t want to talk to me or be my friend anymore, and it came with insults that hurt. I reacted with anger and wanted to hurt him too. And once again, I was left emotionally wrecked by sharing my thoughts. It just proved to me that opening up wasn’t safe.

Now, in my late thirties, I’m experiencing the pain of losing a friend again. This one hit differently because she’s been a friend I’ve known since preschool. There were feelings that kept building—feelings of being left out, unheard, overlooked. So I expressed it. I told her how I felt.

And she turned it around on me. Made me the problem. There was no accountability, no real acknowledgment of my feelings. Just blame.

That friendship ended too, and I was left feeling like I’m always the problem. It made me feel like I should just stay silent, hold everything in, and never let people in too deep. I’ve built walls now. I don’t let people in easily. Trust has to be earned.

Even though opening up has cost me friendships, it’s also shown me people’s character—and that they were never really my people to begin with. It’s also given me the freedom to let those kinds of people go.

And even through all of it, I’ve realized something important: I do have a voice.

If I’m hurt, I’m going to say it. If there’s disrespect, I’m going to call it out. I’m done being stepped on or used.

Speaking my mind has been one of the hardest things I’ve learned to do—but also one of the most life-changing.

Where in your life are you staying silent just to keep the peace—and what is it costing you?

“I learned that silence keeps the peace, but it also erases you.”