Radiant LoversThe quiet way someone can steal your fire without raising their voice… It’s when you let someone else’s voice get louder than yours in your head.
I once let someone else’s voice get louder than mine in my own head. They didn’t shout or force me to do anything. But they did something worse. They silenced my spark. Made me second-guess the thing I was born to do. They couldn’t see the science in storytelling and writing, the empire in branding, the future in event planning. And…I listened.
There was a time when my dreams had a volume all their own, loud, bright, relentless.
I would sit at my desk, sketching out empires built from stories, brainstorming quotes and writing, branding ideas that could change industries, events that could change lives, and seeing how best to make life easy for intending couples, guests, and vendors. I saw worlds before they were born.
I started earlier. And stronger. The girl I was, the girl I am… she could have done more. She could have become more if she hadn’t spent some time in a fog. I once let someone else’s voice get louder than mine. They didn’t shout. But they did something worse. They silenced my spark. Made me second-guess the thing I was born to do. I lost my spark for some years still at the point of regaining it.
But then, quietly….too quietly, another voice began to slip into my head.
They didn’t shout.
They didn’t argue.
They didn’t even say much at all.
A raised eyebrow here.
A sigh when I spoke about my plans.
A comment about how “storytelling isn’t for me, I’m blowing grammar, that are the English not too much” or “branding is just fluff, I don’t know about creativity and it’s not a thing people were familiar with then” or “event planning isn’t for me as i was gentle, I lack the energy.”
Little by little, my spark dimmed.
I found myself second-guessing the very things that once woke me up in the middle of the night, bursting with excitement.
I questioned whether my gifts were foolish, whether my ideas were empty.
The worst part?
I listened.… I listened.
I folded up parts of myself like old letters no one would ever read.
I silenced the music.
I silenced my energy.
I dimmed the color.
Until one day, sitting alone with nothing but a blank notebook and my own heartbeat, staring at the wall, I realized something:
The voice that mattered most had never left me.
It was still there, just quieter now, buried under layers of doubt. And if someone else’s small vision could muffle mine, then surely my belief could bring it roaring back to life. I’m at the point of restoring my spark…
I decided that day: no more.
No more handing over the mic to anyone who couldn’t see the magnitude of my dreams.
No more shrinking for someone else’s comfort.
No more doubting what I was born to do.
I am reclaiming the mic,
ripping down the walls,
calling my dreams by name.
I will not shrink to fit your vision.
I will not water down my fire for your comfort.
I will not hand you the pen to write my story.
Now, every time I sit down to build, to plan, to create…, I listen closely.
Not to the noise of the world.
But to the spark that’s been mine since the very beginning.
And this time, I don’t second-guess it.
I am the voice.
Radiant Lovers
