Silence Isn’t Stuck–It’s Sacred
For most of my life, I’ve lived in noise.
Busy schedules. Loud rooms. Nonstop movement.
People everywhere. Distractions everywhere.
But I realized, that noise was never peace—it was camouflage.
It kept me from hearing what my soul had been whispering all along. My dreams. My fears. My future.
Silence Isn’t Stuck—It’s Sacred
In a therapy session, I was asked a question that hit me harder than I expected:
"What are you afraid of?"
Without even thinking, I said, “Sometimes... I’m afraid of being alone.”
That silence? It can feel loud.
So loud that I can’t hear myself think.
So loud that I confuse it with being stuck.
But my therapist looked at me and gently said:
"Being alone—and the silence it creates—is an opportunity."
And just like that, everything shifted.
For most of my life, I’ve lived in noise.
Busy schedules. Loud rooms. Nonstop movement.
People everywhere. Distractions everywhere.
But I realized, that noise was never peace—it was camouflage.
It kept me from hearing what my soul had been whispering all along.
My dreams. My fears. My future.
When I had ACDF surgery, most people thought it was just a routine procedure. But it wasn’t small for me—it was everything.
Because I was forced to stop. To be still.
To sit face to face with the truth:
If I didn’t make a change, I was going to live with chronic pain, maybe even disability, for the rest of my life.
It wasn’t just physical.
It was emotional. Spiritual. Transformational.
I had to ask myself:
“What tools am I still using that once protected me—but now prevent me from healing?”
And the biggest one?
Being overly independent.
That armor I wore for years?
It didn’t serve me anymore.
I couldn’t do everything alone—not this time.
And that meant facing the question:
Who can I depend on?
The recovery revealed what I needed to know.
Some people disappeared—and that’s okay.
Some people showed up—fully, boldly, quietly—and that’s sacred.
The real ones didn’t ask for credit.
They just ran toward me when I couldn’t walk alone.
That kind of presence can’t be faked.
In March, I was invited by my young friend, David, to see Kylie Minogue perform in Montreal.
But it was her opener, Romy, who cracked my heart wide open.
She sang a song called “Strong” that I didn’t know I needed to hear.
Tears fell before I even realized they were coming.
"You've been strong for so long...
You've learned to carry this on your own.
Let me be someone
You can lean on...
I'm right here…You don’t have to be so strong"
That moment—just like this season—isn’t about being stuck.
It’s about finally hearing what the whispers have been saying.
💭 Journal Prompt:
Where in your life are you still carrying it all alone?
What whispers have you ignored because life got too loud?
And how can you start listening again?
This post pairs with the Healing Through Reinvention journal prompt:
"Learning to Let Go of Old Tools"—available now in the
👉🏾 Watch Me Rise Journal
They Saw Me. They Looked Away. I kept Rising.
A personal reflection on what it means to rise even when you're unseen. This post explores the discomfort others may feel in the face of your healing—and why your journey still matters. For anyone who's ever felt overlooked, this is your reminder: you're still rising. #WatchMeRise
Some people saw me—but they chose to look away.
Maybe my healing was too loud for their silence. Maybe my growth made them uncomfortable. Maybe the version of me that was learning to speak up, set boundaries, and shine was too unfamiliar for those who were comfortable with the older, quieter version of me.
But I didn’t stop. I won’t stop. I didn’t shrink. I won’t shrink.
I kept rising. And I will continue to rise.
This journey—this healing, this becoming—isn't just about reclaiming my voice. It's about rewriting the rules of how I allow others to treat me. It’s about honoring the parts of me I used to hide, water down, or silence for the comfort of others.
This post isn’t just about me. It’s a reminder for anyone who’s ever felt unseen, overlooked, or unsupported:
You’re still rising.
Even when they pretend not to see you. Even when they don't clap. Even when your growth makes others uncomfortable.
You are still rising.
And that matters.
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