FINDING MY VOICE AGAIN

I lost my voice.

Not in a literal sense —
but the kind that lets you stand up for yourself,
speak your truth,
and feel seen.

In my past relationship, I went in with a voice —
strong, bright, unafraid.
But I came out without it.

I came out not knowing how to stand up for myself,
how to say no,
or how to disagree.
I couldn’t express what I was feeling, what I wanted, or what I didn’t.
Because every feeling I had was “just an excuse.”

Every time I tried to speak up, I was silenced.
Every time I defended myself, I was made to believe I was wrong, dramatic, crazy —
like my mind was playing tricks on me.

So I learned to stay quiet.
I learned not to feel, not to question, not to speak.

And when you live that way long enough,
you don’t just lose your voice.
You lose yourself.

I lost myself for six years.
Six years of silence.
Six years of walking on eggshells.
Six years of trying to be small enough not to be a problem,
quiet enough not to start one.

Quiet became peace,
but it also became my fear, my enemy.

We get so caught up in the relationship,
in pleasing our significant other,
that we forget to care for ourselves.
We forget to defend ourselves.
And we make it okay because we think we deserve to be treated that way.

And it’s hard to get out of that.
It’s hard to heal, to learn, to grow.

The fear and silence followed me into my body.
I started getting anxiety attacks —
my chest would tighten, my throat would close,
my mind racing with “Did I say something wrong?
Am I too much? Am I imagining things?”
Even when nothing happened, I carried the tension like armor,
ready to shrink at a moment’s notice.

Even though those years are behind me, the echoes still remain.
I still struggle — sometimes, most times.
I pace and replay moments in my head,
wondering if I should’ve said something,
if I should’ve spoken up.
I go back and forth until it eats away at me,
because it bothers me —
it bothers me that I didn’t defend myself,
that I let the silence win again.

But the few times I have spoken up, it’s felt so good.
So freeing.
So healing.

Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes —
not from sadness,
but from pride.
Because those moments remind me that I’m still here,
still learning,
still finding my voice.

It’s shaky sometimes, unsure and trembling —
but it’s mine again.
And every time I use it, I become a little stronger.

Healing takes time.
And I’m healing a little more with each day.

Every day, even when fear lingers,
I remind myself:
I am here.
I am heard.
I am finding myself again.

This is for the ones who were made to feel crazy for speaking the truth.
For the ones who were taught that silence was safer than honesty.
Your voice is still there —
waiting for you, waiting to be heard.
And you deserve to be heard.

With Love,

Mommy-In-Bloom