Unearthing the Courage to Be Seen and Heard

When I was little, some of the grown-ups in my life would say, “Nice little girls are seen and not heard.” I don’t think they meant to hurt me when they said it. Maybe they were trying to teach me to avoid conflict or shield me from judgment.

But even as a child, something about those words felt wrong. Heavy. It felt like they were gently pressing the mute button on me, making sure my voice stayed quiet, small, and out of the way.

Those words didn’t just slip by unnoticed. They embedded themselves, shaping how I showed up. I carried the belief that standing out—speaking up—was a risk that would leave me alone and ostracized. And that blending in and being quiet was the key to staying safe.

And as a result, rather than feel safe, I felt misalignment and “not good enough.”

I wonder if you’ve felt something similar. Have you ever found yourself holding back, stifling instead of speaking up, because somewhere along the line, you learned it was safer that way?

Looking back, it’s wild to think about how a single message could create such a deep groove in my brain. And it’s not just a “me” thing—it’s all of us. Science backs this up.

Our childhood brains are like sponges, soaking up whatever the world pours into us.

The words, the expectations, the unspoken rules. They weave themselves into the fabric of who we are, whether we realize it or not.

For me, “nice little girls are seen and not heard” wasn’t just a sentence. It was a road map.

I started navigating life in ways that kept me small. I bit back opinions, rehearsed my words endlessly before opening my mouth, and sometimes decided it was just better not to speak at all. The less said, the less judged.

But here’s the thing about those old patterns—they don’t stay in the past. They hitch a ride into adulthood, quietly steering the ship. And before you know it, you’re not just avoiding being “too much” as a child; you’re avoiding it in boardrooms and relationships, among friends and strangers alike.

It took me years to see how much I was silencing myself. And longer still to realize… I missed knowing and using my voice.

Breaking those patterns didn’t happen at once—it came from showing up, time after time, with purpose. Each small step was deliberate, and I could see the progress, even if it felt slow at times.

Neuroscience tells us our brains are capable of change, but it also tells us real transformation takes time. Building new pathways in the brain is like carving a new trail through the woods—it starts rough, uneven, and unfamiliar.

For me, the first step wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even visible to anyone else. It was this private, painful acknowledgment that I had given away pieces of myself. That protecting myself from potential judgment had cost me my voice and my identity.

And then, slowly, I began acquainting myself with that voice and ultimately with my most authentic self.

It wasn’t about overcorrecting or becoming the loudest person in the room. It was about finding little ways to be honest with myself. To say what I meant, even if my voice trembled. To trust that taking up space wasn’t an act of rebellion; it was the action necessary to becoming more and more me.

And here are a few things that helped me to do just that:

1. Breathing Through the Fear

When my instinct was to shrink, I’d pause and literally breathe my way into the moment. I didn’t try to force confidence I didn’t feel or fake self-assurance. I just took the deepest breath I could, planted my feet, and stayed with the discomfort until it dissipated.

When I felt uncertain or less than confident, I’d stand or sit up straight with my shoulders back and my head up. This type of posture helped to shift the energy from constricted and hiding to one of expansion and taking up space. And to this day, I still use this little trick to infuse some expansive energy.

2. Getting Honest on Paper

Journaling saved me, plain and simple. There were so many things I struggled to say out loud, but on paper, they came pouring out. It wasn’t pretty or polished, it was messy, raw and real. And somehow, in the mess, I began to hear and see myself.

3. Practicing No, Guilt-Free

Saying no, especially as someone who’d mastered the art of people-pleasing, felt selfish at first. But I learned that “no” was necessary—not just for creating boundaries with others, but for showing myself that my needs deserved space too.

4. Noticing the Brave Moments

Each time I showed up fully, even in a tiny way—whether it was sharing an opinion or asking for help—it felt like proof that my voice mattered. I stopped waiting for external validation and started celebrating my own courage, even when it felt wobbly. (Neuroscience Geeky Moment: When we celebrate, our brains not only release feel good chemicals, but they catalog the successful steps we took so they can be used again.)

5. Giving Myself Permission to Mess Up

There were plenty of times I didn’t get it right. I stumbled over my words or regretted my delivery. I learned from those “mess ups.” Progress doesn’t mean perfection, it means using what we’ve learned to help us move forward.

If I could sit across from the little girl I used to be, the one who learned to play small, I’d tell her something I didn’t hear enough back then. I’d say, “You don’t have to earn your right to be here, to be heard. You deserve to be here. Your voice matters just because it’s yours. You don’t have to hide, because you are meant to be seen just as you are. Period!”

I wonder what you’d say to your younger self. Maybe the words you needed then are the ones you still need now.

I’ll leave you with this. If you’ve lost touch with pieces of yourself—your voice, your boldness, your light—it’s not gone. You can find it and reconnect with it. Maybe in messy journal pages or shaky baby steps or in the simple act of saying, “no” to avoid shrinking.

How will you stake claim to your voice so you’re seen and heard?

I’d love to hear about it, so comment below.

Maybe it’s journaling like me. Maybe it’s something else entirely. Either way, your story matters. And more importantly, you matter.

Take one small step today—whatever that looks like for you. Even if your voice shakes, even if it’s just whispering at first. Because you deserve to show up, to be heard, and to take up space.

And in case no one’s told you lately – You’re enough. Just as you are. Always.