“I found my voice”

“Mumma, that’s where I found my voice.”

I looked to the left, taken off guard by the quiet certainty in your voice. We were just driving past the place where you once had your speech pathology sessions, where you learnt your first full words, the sounds and shapes of communication.

“Yes, baby, that’s where you learnt all your words.”
“And I found my voice,” you said again.

And just like that, the smallest interaction had me reeling.
You remembered. And not just the place, but the significance of it, even at your age. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You’ve reminded me of all the times I’ve lost my voice.
And all the times I’ve had to find it again.

I could name them, one by one.
The abusive relationships.
The accusations that I was a bad mother.
In the church, where I was expected to stay small.
And the quietest ones — the moments I silenced myself to make space for others, even when I was screaming inside: Kate, fucking say something. Stand up. Be better.
But on the outside, I smiled. Stayed still. Said nothing.

And yet… I always found it again. My voice.
Sometimes shaking. Sometimes too late.
Sometimes at breaking point, when silence finally hurt more than speaking the truth.

I’ve found my voice here, behind the black mirror of a screen, typing out what I could never say out loud.

I’ve found it in conversations with people who truly see me, the ones who say things like, “Kate, what the fuck. That isn’t okay.”
In those moments, their truth gave me the courage to own mine. Because gaslighting, whether from others or myself, can make you question whether your truth is real at all.

Just like you found your voice alongside a professional, I’ve found mine in the presence of others. People who listened. People who spoke up. People who reminded me of who I am when I forget.

And here’s what I’ve learned:
We often find our voice when someone teaches us how to use it.
When someone makes room for it.
When someone says, “You’re not crazy. That’s not okay. Say something.”

You know what I love most about you and kids your age?
You haven’t been taught to stay silent yet.
If you think something, you say it.
You speak from your heart without editing it down to make others comfortable.
You know where you stand. And so does everyone around you.

And my role, as your mum, is to protect that in you.
To teach you the words for your feelings.
To help you say yes and no, when needed.
To remind you that kindness and truth aren’t opposites, you can speak your truth with respect.
But more than that, my role is to use my voice. Loudly. Clearly.
So that you are empowered to use yours.

That means having the hard conversations.
Saying something when it would be easier to stay quiet.
Standing my ground not just for me, but for you.
So you grow up knowing what is right and what is wrong, and that your voice is one of the ways you protect yourself and others.

So thank you, Solomon.
For reminding me, again, where we both found our voice.
I promise to keep using mine, so you always feel safe to use yours.