I’ve watched him do this around them for going on probably 8 years now. And the awkward space that always followed as they stared back at us from the laptop screen perched atop my mustard-colored yoga bolster.

It’s painful to witness. And honestly, I’d call it heartbreaking. Annnd it was also at a relative distance from me.

Until I noticed myself doing it around them too?

That’s when I could really feel it in my body. And in my heart.

And it feels… almost like dying to me, Reader.

What it actually is, is not being seen by the people you are supposed to be closest to. Whose lineage and bodies and cellular-level particulars you are made of.

So, same thing as dying, right?

Essentially.

To me, it feels like a wide and flat Rogue River cobble in my throat.
And a weight hanging over my body heavier than a sperm whale who’s swallowed up all the pacific coastal ocean water around him.
​
Maybe it feels less like dying and more like… just wanting to die.

Because no matter what there’s no space for you to actually be seen. And so you never feel heard or understood either.

But you tell me.

What I’ve watched my husband do with his parents was to go away in that moment.

To just disappear when it doesn’t feel safe to actually be seen or be himself.

(I have a rather unfortunate and inborn skill of feeling the same family system energy my loved ones have experienced since childhood. Oof. It’s no bueno.)

But that moment he leaves himself.
That same moment I’ve left myself.
Is just a more tragic example of the ways we all leave ourselves—

in an important conversation we’ve wanted to have.
when it’s finally about us.
when we’re about to share something actually real.

But instead we:
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go somewhere else in our mind.
go silent.
go away completely and do something else.

And so we also abort the:

chance at connection.
vulnerability of being seen.
possibility of being known or understood or even admired and loved.

The thing isn’t said.
The words aren’t written.
The post is never shared.

If your voice feels hard to access, it’s not because you lack discipline. It’s simply because, in that moment, it doesn’t feel safe.

So you leave yourself.

And everyone else…

hanging.

And every time you leave yourself, your voice goes with you.

(If that kind of moment happens enough times…
It starts to feel like you don’t have one at all.)

※ Koa​
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P.S. Reader, can you try this simple prompt with me real quick? Can you notice the moment you’re about to not share and stay with it for one breath longer?

Reply and tell me what you noticed.

I work with this exact moment. The one where you almost say it. Almost share it. Almost stay. Because your voice isn’t gone. It’s just been shaped by the places it didn’t feel safe to exist in. I work with all the stories. The inner stories. The outer. Some need to be seen, held, understood and ushered into the light. Others need to be gathered, stayed with and shaped, crafted, and finally expressed in your voice. I do both. ​ Find YOUR VOICE again​ (Free 30-min chat) ​ ​Walk away knowing what’s been shaping your voice and what's it might be asking for next.​ ​ ​In this free 30-minute virtual call, we’ll uncover what’s shaping your voice right now and whether it’s asking to be understood… or expressed.

Did you get something out of this email? Then forward it to a friend.

A giggle. Some wisdom. Resonance. A witness. The gift of grace in simply acknowledging how absurd it is to be a human right now in a culture that offers LOTS of input but little help? Then, please share with another human who may need this too.

Thank you for reading and sharing,
​Koa

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