The Voice You Fear Is the Key to Your Freedom

There were so many times I wanted to share my voice. So many moments when I had words ready to pour out, truths I longed to say—I kept them locked inside.

I was terrified.

What would happen when I spoke up? What would people think of me? What would they say? That fear sat heavy on my chest, stealing my breath and pulling me deeper into myself.

I hated myself. Truly hated myself.

I couldn’t even bear to look in the mirror. The person staring back at me wasn’t someone I recognized. I was terrified of who I might become as I let myself truly feel or speak.

The days blurred together into one endless loop of dread. Tomorrow felt unbearable because I didn’t know how to face it. I was trapped in a version of my life that didn’t feel like mine, and I didn’t want to live it anymore.

The pain was overwhelming. It felt like a storm inside me—so powerful I couldn’t contain it. I didn’t know how to let it out. I wanted everything to stop. I wanted to disappear, to dissolve into nothingness and leave the weight behind.

Even in that darkness, there was a scream inside me.

A raw, piercing scream that felt like it could shatter me from the inside out. It wasn’t a scream of anger or rage—it was desperation, a cry for help.

At first, I ignored it. I told myself it was nothing, just another sign of how broken I was. It wouldn’t stop.

It grew louder, more insistent.

When I finally stopped to listen, I realized it wasn’t coming from someone else. It wasn’t a stranger shouting at me—it was me. My voice. My own voice, begging to be heard.

I was terrified to let her speak because her words came with pain, a pain I had been trying so hard to avoid. The more I silenced her, the louder she became.

Looking back, I know now that I was silencing my own truth.

I was terrified to sit with it. I was terrified to feel it. The moment I let myself listen—really listen—I understood that my pain wasn’t my enemy.

It was my power.

And I needed to feel it.

The darkest moments of my life were the ones when I ignored that voice, that little girl inside me who was screaming for attention. I buried her pain, I shoved it away, I avoided it at all costs—it never left me.

When I allowed myself to see her, to feel her, it was excruciating. It felt like knives cutting me open from the inside. I fell to my knees, overwhelmed by fear and sorrow.

I didn’t know how to hold her, how to hold me.

I stayed there. On my knees, head bowed, tears streaming down my face. I let her scream. I let myself scream. I let myself feel all the fear, all the pain, all the self-loathing I had carried for so long.

For the first time, I didn’t turn away.

I placed my hands on the cold earth, grounding myself in its strength. I let it remind me that I’m still here, still breathing, still alive.

Slowly, I rose.

I rose with a trembling heart and shaky hands. I rose.

In that moment, I understood something I had never truly believed before: my pain wasn’t here to destroy me. It was here to guide me, to help me reclaim myself.

That voice inside me? It was never weak. It was me all along, waiting to be heard, waiting to remind me of who I am.

I don’t hate her anymore.

I thank her every day for screaming loud enough for me to hear. For helping me feel again. For showing me that even in the darkest moments, there’s a way forward as I’m willing to listen.

I promise her—I promise me—that I’ll never silence her again.

Love & Conquer, Tanja Andersen 🌻