You Have the Right NOT to Remain Silent.
“Most people don’t really want to step into their own power
—because power demands truth.”
I’ve come to realise something: most people don’t really want to step into their own power. Not fully. Not fiercely. They want you empowered—sure—but just enough. Powerful—but still palatable. Creative—but not threatening.
Especially if you’re a woman.
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: when a man decides, the road often rises to meet him. But when a woman decides, she has to carve the road herself. And before she even sets foot on it, she’s had to justify it, explain it, weigh the cost of it, make sure no one else suffers because of it—and somehow still make it look beautiful.
And then, when she dares to do it despite the odds? She’s told she’s lucky. She should be grateful. Grateful for the time. Grateful for the support. Grateful for the crumbs of space she carved from her own soul.
But my clients aren’t lucky to live life on their terms or to be successful. The world is lucky they are brave enough to do it despite the cards often being stacked against them.
Lately, I’ve felt it rising in me again—that edge, that voice, that fire. The refusal to be rounded off, softened, or adjusted. Not in my work. Not in my sound. Not in my life. Because I’m not here to be digestible either. I’m here to be me.
“I’m not here to be digestible. I’m here to be me.”
You don’t “find” the time for a life “like this”. You create it. You carve it. You sacrifice sleep, comfort, energy, breath—because you have to. Because the alternative is to disappear.
I’ve had people—recently even—try to “improve” what I’ve made. Make it smoother. More satisfactory. More “beautiful.” But I don’t want smoother. I don’t want beautiful if it means losing the rawness that makes it real.
Because this is what happens: you step into your voice. You make something true. And someone, somewhere, will try to soften it—because it’s easier for them that way. Easier to file you under “sweet creative woman doing nice things” than to acknowledge your power.
But I’m not interested in being easy to label. I’m not doing this to make people comfortable. I’m doing this because I can’t not.
Yes, women have historically been cast in the role of serving, supporting, enabling—and when we do step into our own power, there’s resistance. Not always overt. Often quiet. Subtle. Well-meaning, even. But resistance all the same.
You feel it when someone tells you how inspiring your work is—but can’t seem to respect your boundaries. You feel it when you’re expected to keep giving more, for less. You feel it when someone hears your voice and instinctively wants to soften it.
But this time? I’m not letting it happen. Not to my work. Not to my voice. Not to the sound I’ve spent years reclaiming.
I’m not here to be softer. I’m not here to be more convenient. And I’m not going to thank anyone for “letting me” do what I’m here to do.
So if you feel like you need permission, let me give it to you: You have the right not to remain silent. To speak even when your voice trembles. To make money without guilt. To lead without softening yourself to fit someone else’s mould. To keep your raw edges. To make art that cuts through. To stop shrinking, even when the world quietly wishes you would.
“You have the right NOT to remain silent—even when your voice trembles.”
So no, I won’t be rounding off. I won’t be simplifying. And I sure as hell won’t be apologising.
This is who I am. Unfiltered. Unshrunk. Unapologetic.
And this isn’t just a personal truth. It’s what I see all the time in the people I support.
They come into my space and start speaking their truth, tapping into something deep and real—and I watch them come alive. But then… they go back out into their everyday lives—into systems that were never built to hold that kind of power—and slowly, they start shrinking again.
Not always consciously—just piece by piece. It happens quietly. A hesitation here. A softened statement there. An unspoken pressure to not be too much.
So we train for those moments—to help them recognise the shrinking before it takes hold. To remind them: they can be soft and fierce. Raw and wise. Creative and commanding.
You’re allowed to say what you want. To ask for it. To speak without wrapping your truth in disclaimers or apologies. To rise—and keep rising—even when the world wants you to fold.
This is the work.
And it’s damn sacred.
Because this is not just about using your voice—it’s about remembering that it was always yours to begin with.
📌 Need help with standing in your power as a woman in leadership? Apply for one of only three spots as my private client.