An Open Confession to My Friends and Family on Why I Haven’t Called

An Honest Journey of Hidden Pain

Nov 04, 2025

They say the truth will set you free, and it is freedom that I seek.

My Spirit led me to write this open letter of confession because I could no longer bear the pain of being hidden. It’s fascinating how our lives unfold with each revelation, 'A-ha' moment, and spiritual nudge from something greater than ourselves.

A few months ago, I heard a small, subtle whisper that simply said, Substack. I don’t know anything about Substack other than it is a space for writers. So I downloaded the app and decided to write my first article. No preconceived notions, no expectations, just following the breadcrumbs of my intuition.

This article isn’t about my Substack; it’s about how my soul led me to the broken part of myself that I needed to heal—my voice.

December 2007, a week after my 30th birthday, I was hospitalized for a severe asthma attack. The last thing I remember about that day was riding in the back of the ambulance with an oxygen mask tightly fitting my face. I felt relief as the paramedic held my hand and assured me I was going to be ok. That was the last thing I remember about that day.

I was intubated and placed in a medically induced coma. The intubation had gone wrong. I was in a fragile state and ended up catching pneumonia because of the puncture to my lung.

I will soon write about this experience in much more detail because there was a lot that happened during those 10 days of darkness.

When I was released from the hospital the day after Christmas that year, I could barely speak. My voice was raspy, low-toned, and painful. I somehow pushed past the pain to slowly regain my voice. However, it was never the same.

Over the years, I had been complimented numerous times about my raspy, sexy voice. But what people didn’t know was that my voice was my biggest insecurity.

This was the point in life that moved me away from speaking my truth. It didn’t happen overnight. But slowly… quietly…Like a dimmer switch turning down the volume of my soul. It was a culmination of beliefs that made it painful to speak; I felt judged, and somehow I was insignificant because my truth had become hidden. I would just nod when people would say, You poor thing, you must be catching a cold. I no longer wanted to have to explain my experience to people. The truth already felt painful enough. I didn’t want to unpack things with complete strangers. I disappeared each time. Somewhere along the way, my truth got tucked away — not because it wasn’t real, but because it didn’t feel safe to be seen in it.

When you begin to react from a place of wounding and pain, and continue to act in that way, it becomes imprinted as a habit. It’s like using a dark blue crayon over and over in the same place on a page; it’s so dark it’s no longer blue, it becomes black. It changes its original natural shape and form. That’s how we morph into being someone we aren’t. It’s the repetition of an action that we think is keeping us safe from harm when, in fact, it’s building a new identity. That identity for me was that I wasn’t worthy of being seen for who I truly am. That somehow I was invaluable, weak, and broken.

It was always in the back of my head. I quit showing up for myself. I became agreeable for the sake of not having to strain and push myself to be seen, heard and understood.

Over the years, my voice began to rehabilitate itself slowly. When I say slowly, I mean a decade or so; it never really recovered to full strength. The raspy, soft-spoken girl became my new identity. I hated every ounce of it but didn’t take the time to dig deeper. I accepted what I saw as a flaw as just the way my life was now.

June 2024, I was using my asthma rescue inhaler more than I had in the last seventeen years since I was hospitalized. I was puffing on my inhaler daily and sometimes a few times a day. I was nervous but didn’t tell a soul. I didn’t want people to probe or worry about me. Silently, I witnessed this familiar yet scary thing taking place every day for months. I thought I could get it under control and things would be fine.

Fall 2024, my breathing became labored and restricted. My voice problems were compounded by the lack of air I was getting. I was pushing and forcing to move the air from my lungs up to my vocal cords. I was scared to say the least.

My naturopath was concerned and sent me to get an ultrasound on my neck. It was surely something in my neck that was causing the issues. To my surprise, everything checked out. You know, when you are having a medical problem, and the tests come back clear, there is relief, but also a moment of “if not this, then what”? I clearly knew it had to be the big C word, because our ego-driven brains always go to worst-case scenarios.

Next up was my pulmonologist. Years prior, the doctor discovered a small nodule in my lower left lobe—a result of my intubation. The PET scan made me sick for weeks, but the results were hopeful. Not cancerous but something to keep a close eye on. 4 years later, in early 2025, my CT scan showed no change in the nodule. I was clear, no cancer, and nothing to be concerned about.

I was frustrated and concerned that the experts were missing something. Something big! I couldn’t be experiencing this much pain and strain from something small and simple. No way!

January 2025, no relief or answers in sight. My ENT scoped me several times and discovered that I had strained vocal cords. I was diagnosed with MTD (muscle tension dysphonia). Most likely from years of improper use and straining my voice to work for me. The prescription was speech therapy for 12 weeks, and then check back.

The small still voice within told me, this was the wrong path. I reluctantly went for six sessions. I was ooooohing, aaaaahing, and humming, following the sweet speech pathologists’ exercises in an attempt to retrain my speech patterns.

I was frustrated, tears in my eyes when I left my sessions knowing that it wasn’t actually working for me. The only thing that gave me relief was the instructed neck stretches. I desperately wanted to spend the full hour rolling my neck side to side because that’s what felt right to me.

I ghosted my speech therapist. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her method wasn’t going to work because I already knew this wasn’t the answer. It was too painful to continue to waste my time and hers with no results.

I wasn’t answering calls from friends and family. I wasn’t making calls to them either. Not only did I not have the heart to tell my speech therapist the truth, but I also wanted to hide the truth from the people who loved me most. I was ashamed and in a spiral of thoughts that this was the end for me. My life force, my voice, wasn’t coming back.

There were a dozen times over a several months when I couldn’t swallow, and I couldn’t make a noise. My voice paralyzed and frozen. I didn’t want to worry or burden people with my pain and suffering. Honestly, I didn’t want them to know. I was reliving my past experience once again, but at a whole new level. I literally lost my voice. Not just a few times or for a few moments. It was gone for 9 months.

In that time, I still had to show up for obligations, my business, my clients, my family. I painfully squeaked through. Pushing and forcing sound to come out. Every time I spoke, the deceitful liar within told me that I wasn’t worthy to be heard. That somehow I was losing this precious expression of mine because what I had to say didn’t really matter anyway.

I listened more than I spoke. I took in everyone else’s energy without expressing my own truth. The most painful thing was to withdraw because I had no other choice. I was slowly losing sight of what once burned in my heart to be a great service to others. My clients started to disappear without notice. In my mind, this was my new normal, but my soul had other plans for me.

I prayed for answers, clarity, and guidance on my next steps. I wanted so desperately to connect with my friends and family, genuinely connect with them through my voice. But there I was, frozen in this dilemma. Hiding my truth from the world because the pain of not being able to show up was deeper than any other wound. Not having answers compounded the pain.

It was a fateful meeting with a mentor, a brain pattern behavior expert who suggested fascia work. In that very moment, it clicked. My body was storing the memories of my past. Memories and beliefs that were so deeply ingrained in my subconscious mind that they were hidden. My body was holding on to the tension and pressure to be perfect.

My brain pattern type is an Abandonment-Hold It All Together type. I lived my life with the underlying belief that if I was not a people-pleasing perfectionist, then I couldn’t be worthy of love. If I weren’t worthy of love, I would be left.

I sneakily trained myself to hold it all in.

My thoughts

My opinions

My interests

My truth

My ability to be agreeable was my greatest strength. At least that’s what my mind wanted me to believe. When in fact, it was my biggest wound.

Remaining quiet and hidden, for the sake of perceived safety, has stomped on my spirit, it’s fucked with my energy, and it nearly killed me not once but twice.

Uncovering my hidden truths of worthiness and belonging has led me to let go and say fuck it, I am going to speak my truth no matter what. Even if it’s scary and painful.

With the help of my Myofasical therapist, my subconscious coach, and inner wise guide that brought me to Substack, I am softening into my full expression. I’m not sure what will come next, but I feel a full belly fire that is ready to explode.

I haven’t completely healed. So if you hear my raspy, soft spoken, squeaky voice, know that I am working through this energetic karmic imprint that has been with me not only in this life, but many past lives where I was persecuted and hanged for spreading truth.

My Guides and Guardians tell me that this is a pivotal point in my soul’s evolution. It was part of the plan all along for my voice to embody more light, more truth, and more aligned soul expression. The resonance has shifted to a higher path, which is not yet clear.

My hope is to share my story because I know I am not alone on this healing journey of becoming. I know in my heart that there are people out there who may be in similar situations and need to know that it’s safe to show up as the real you, even if it wasn’t in the past.

There are communities of people who are ready to hold you and witness your pain. The greatest alchemizer of suffering is the ability to talk it out. To be honest and open about what you have gone through. This is the school of life, where we should lean on one another for support, wisdom, and inspiration to become the highest version of ourselves that our souls are calling us towards.

If you’re biting your tongue, stop for fucks sake. The throat is our gateway to manifestation. If you aren’t using it, you will lose it. Take it from someone who lost their ability to speak.

Last thing, to my Higher Self and inner child, I am sorry, please forgive me for abandoning you all these years. I love you and thank you for this healing.

To my friends and family who haven’t heard much from me, I want you to know it wasn’t ever about you. You will be hearing my raspy voice again. I love you and thank you for being by my side, even when I stayed silent.

If this resonates with you at all, please comment below. Redemption is just on the other side of your story.

Soul & Mind Alchemy

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