16 Jun Speaking Up: A Muscle I’m Still Building (with guided meditation)

I felt it last week.

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Watch here if you’d prefer

I brushed it aside with some well-groomed self-compassion.

I had asked for clarity around a project I’m working on with someone I deeply respect. I thought we were still in the iteration phase—the back-and-forth of What about this? Could we try that? How about this direction? On the upside, it looked like things were moving ahead, maybe even with some stamp of approval I hadn’t realized I had already given.

Something felt off.

I was confused.

My first reaction was curiosity—I’d reach out.

My next reaction came almost immediately: a metaphorical hand over my mouth.

Nope, I told myself. Leona, you can live with things as they are. You probably misunderstood something. Just stay quiet.

That stay quiet reflex seems to be my go-to. Oddly, I also consider myself a fairly bold and forthright person (just ask my beloved husband).

In my mind’s eye, I saw my office chalkboard—the one where I’ve written my phrase for the year: SPEAK UP.

Speaking up is hard. It’s a muscle I’ve been building. And I know now, after paying a lot of attention, just how quickly and subtly I shut myself down.

But yesterday, I took a sip of courage.

I sent an email.

I asked if I had misunderstood part of the process. I

I even mentioned in the email my “be a good girl” parts were acting up.

I’ve worked with this person for years. I respect her, admire her work, and adore her as a human.

So, I gave myself permission to be a little more vulnerable.

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She replied later that evening. It seemed there had been a misunderstanding. No big deal at all—I had expected something that wasn’t really possible within the scope of this project; all made sense and was no big deal.

As I got into bed, I kept thinking about it. And then I felt it—this wave of nausea. At first, I chalked it up to something I’d eaten. But as I sat with it, I realized it wasn’t just physical. It was emotional.

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It was worry.

Worry that she might be mad at me.

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As soon as I acknowledged that, something clicked.

The nausea wasn’t food-related—it was fear. The deep, gut-level fear that someone I care about might be upset with me.

It took me straight back to being five years old—old enough to feel when someone was mad but not old enough to know what to do about it. It made me feel small. Helpless.

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I didn’t do much at that moment except whisper to myself, Yep, this is hard. That small acknowledgment helped re-engage the thinking part of my brain. (That’s not why I did it—but it’s a lovely byproduct of self-compassion: it helps restore logic when our nervous systems want to shut everything down.)

Then I simply reminded myself:

This makes sense.

That interaction triggered something in me that makes me easily hurt and scared.

And there’s nothing wrong with that part of me.

There’s nothing to “get over” or “toughen up.” That never works.

It’s about embracing those parts with compassion. With love.

Saying, Yep. I see you. It makes sense that you feel this way.

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I tell my clients this all the time—and I use it in my own life:

We are systems running adult software on childhood algorithms.

That doesn’t always land well. People often strive to present themselves as competent adults at all times. That’s a beautiful intention, but it’s not entirely how we work. Science backs this up: we are the sum of our experiences and the emotions that accompany them. Those early emotions, especially from childhood, leave imprints.

Some can be lessened with time, support, and awareness. But others—especially the big ones—may always linger in some form.

That’s not shameful.

It’s something to own.

It’s something to become aware of. To notice how it shows up.

And then to choose how we respond. That’s healthy integration.

When we understand—not alienate—the algorithm, we’re more likely to recognize what’s really going on, like my fear that this person might be mad at me, which hit harder because I genuinely care about her and our relationship.

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Awareness helps me come back to the truth:

There’s a thought (she might be mad at me),

There’s a feeling (fear, sadness, disappointment),

There’s a bodily response (my stomach feels sick),

And then there’s my response:

Take care of myself. Speak my truth. Acknowledge the trigger.

And that’s exactly what I did.

I circled back to the tension in that interaction.

I emailed.

I spoke up.

And for someone trained to stay quiet, that’s the bravest thing I can do.

That’s how I want to live and lead my life:

By speaking up—even when it comes at a cost.

Even when it’s nauseating.

Even when the vulnerability is excruciating.

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Because not speaking up comes with a cost, too—one that’s often harder to live with over time.

The world doesn’t benefit from you swallowing your truth.

It benefits you to live in your truth.

From you using your voice.

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If there’s something you’ve been holding back—

Take some time.

Journal. Reflect. Use prompts if you need to (there are some below).

And then, when you’re ready, speak up.

And when you do, celebrate that act of courage.

The world needs more of that magic.

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If you feel like you play small at times and want to connect more intently, get creative (this isn’t what you might consider art). Connect with that younger part of you that feels afraid when they spoke up. What was that like? Write, draw, or collage about what that was like for you. Spend some time with what that feels like and tend to that younger part of you with comfort and compassion. If you’d like, you can draw a picture (using crayons or something that evokes childhood freedom) of yourself when you were younger and felt fully alive. Draw it as you would have at that time.

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Listen to this meditation to reconnect with the younger part of yourself.

Some journaling prompts to go deeper.

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What situations or relationships tend to trigger your “stay quiet” reflex?

Explore recent or past moments where you held back your voice. What did you feel in your body? What were you afraid might happen?

 What is my earliest memory of being afraid to speak up?

Gently reflect on childhood experiences where you learned it might not be safe or welcome to express yourself. What messages did you internalize?

 When was the last time I used my voice, even though it felt uncomfortable?

Celebrate that moment. What helped you speak up? What did you learn from the experience—about yourself or the outcome?

 What part of me still believes that keeping the peace means staying silent?

Write to that part of yourself with compassion. Let it know what’s true now and how you’re learning to hold both truth and connection.

 What would it look like to live more fully in my truth today?

Describe how speaking up could be helpful and would benefit your relationships or your leadership. What small step can you take to move toward that?

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Beloved, if you are reading this and can relate and could use some support, please hit reply, and we can talk about what that could look like- maybe it’s a session or two that could be helpful. We are on this journey together. You can also book a 20 min meeting here to discuss 🙂 https://calendly.com/devillepartners/meeting-20-minute​

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Lots of love~ Leona