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I didn’t know I had lost myself until I began to listen again.
For years, I prided myself on being strong. I wore my competence like armor—rising through the ranks, building businesses, holding space for others while quietly ignoring the voice inside me whispering, This isn’t who you are anymore. Like many women, I learned to equate worth with resilience, and resilience with silence.
But my body knew better.
Anxiety fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird. My jaw clenched with unspoken words. Nights stretched sleepless as my nervous system stayed on high alert. Outwardly, I was thriving. Inwardly, I was shutting down.
The breaking point wasn’t dramatic—it was quiet. One afternoon, sitting alone in my car after another long day of “being strong,” I realized my entire body was trembling. Not from fear, but from the weight of everything I hadn’t said. That day became the beginning of my return.
The Silence Before the Story
Shame thrives in silence.
For most of my life, I believed vulnerability was dangerous. I believed my pain was something to manage privately, not to voice publicly. Like many of us, I learned early on that being “too much” might cost me belonging.
Yet hiding our stories doesn’t protect us—it isolates us. And isolation compounds the pain we’re trying to escape.
Discovering Somatic Storytelling
My healing began not with a single therapist or a single epiphany but with a slow, deliberate return to my own body. Through breathwork, guided somatic practices, and eventually trauma-informed techniques like EMDR-inspired reprocessing, I started to feel what I’d been avoiding.
At first, the stories came out shaky, like a child learning to speak. Then stronger. Then freer.
And something unexpected happened: each time I told my truth aloud—in a safe space where I was met with compassion instead of judgment—my nervous system softened. My heart rate slowed. My body felt less like a battleground and more like a home.
This is what I now call somatic storytelling—pairing the power of voice with the wisdom of the body. It’s not performance. It’s presence. It’s allowing our story to move through us instead of being held inside us.
Reclaiming Joy
This process became the heartbeat of my work and the foundation for my two books: Embody Your Essence: Break Patterns of Suffering and Reclaim Your Joy and SheBreathes Soul Stories, an anthology of 22 women’s voices.
Writing Embody Your Essence wasn’t simply about teaching tools—it was about living them. Each chapter became a mirror for me and my readers to examine our patterns, question our stories, and reclaim our power.
And with SheBreathes Soul Stories, I invited women from my community to share their own journeys. Together, we created a book that is more than an anthology—it’s a movement. These women spoke about shame, grief, trauma, and hope. As they spoke, I watched them transform. As readers engaged, I watched them transform, too.
This is the magic of storytelling. When one of us speaks, all of us heal a little more.
What Helped Me (Might Help Us Too)
If you’re holding on to a story that feels too heavy to share, here are a few gentle practices that supported me—and may support you:
>> Begin with the body. Before speaking or writing, pause. Place a hand on your heart or belly. Breathe. Notice what sensations arise as you think about your story. Let your body guide you.
>> Anchor in safety. Have a grounding tool ready—a mantra, a breath pattern, a touchstone. This helps your nervous system stay regulated as you express vulnerable truths.
>> Find a compassionate witness. Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. Whether it’s a trusted friend, a support group, or a writing circle, being witnessed without judgment changes everything.
>> Honor the pause. After sharing, give yourself time to integrate. A cup of tea, a walk outside, or quiet reflection can help your nervous system settle.
Coming Home
I no longer believe strength means doing everything alone.
I believe true strength is the courage to be seen—shaky voice, messy emotions, whole heart. It’s in this space of honesty that we find sovereignty: the ability to stand in our truth without abandoning ourselves.
Somatic storytelling gave me my life back. It reconnected me to joy I thought I’d lost and gave me tools to help others reclaim theirs. If you’re reading this and recognizing your own “silent stories,” know this: you are not broken. You are becoming.
And your story—just as it is—is medicine.
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