I Thought I Was Resting. Maybe I Was Hiding.

On silence, liberation, and the tender work of finding my way back to my voice.

Someone reminded me that my voice matters, and that sparked a reckoning with why I’ve been quiet.

I was catching up with an old client the other day, and they told me how much they missed hearing my voice and seeing my face.

They missed the IG posts, the podcast episodes, the Substack reflections that were thoughtfully crafted teaching tools dressed up as essay. They missed the random car sound-offs in my IG stories. And of course, the puppy posts (we all know y’all are really here for puppy content).

The way they said it landed somewhere tender.

It didn’t feel extractive. It didn’t feel like someone wanting access to me or my life just to consume it. They were naming a point of connection they genuinely missed.

And because I am who I am, I immediately made a joke.

“Damn! You’ve come such a long way. What could you possibly learn from me anymore?”

Now, for context, I’ve worked with this person on and off for years. I’ve walked alongside them through personal and professional transitions, family changes, career shifts, parenting challenges, partnership evolutions, and the building of their first liberatory business, one that ultimately changed their life in profound ways. I’ve guided and supported as they wrestled with questions about their identity, humanity, and their place in the world.

I’ve taught, challenged, encouraged, and held them with love.

Sometimes soft love.

Sometimes tough love.

Sometimes the kind of love that asks you to stop lying to yourself because you and the collective deserve better than that.

So when I made that joke, part of me meant it.

What could they possibly learn from me? Do they even need me anymore?

But beneath the joke was something else.

Somewhere along the way, a loud part of my internal monologue convinced me that there wasn’t much left for me to say to the world that would help people “get it.”

That people weren’t really listening anyway.

That because the way I teach and practice liberation isn’t flashy, easily packaged, or optimized for quick consumption, people weren’t checking for it.

Not real liberation, anyway.

Not the kind that takes time. The kind that requires commitment. Not the kind that asks us to be uncomfortable, accountable, honest and human all at the same time.

Back to the point of this post, though.

After my lil jokie joke (which clearly wasn’t much of a joke once I got honest with myself), my former client said something that did two things.

First, it felt like a full-on heart hug. It reminded me that the work I’ve done with people, and within the collective, actually matters. That its impact is often immeasurable, even when I can’t see it.

Second, it sent me on an introspective journey that lasted for weeks.

They looked me dead in the face and said, more or less:

“Every time you open your mouth, I learn something or I get a permission slip. I’m reminded that doing the hard thing, or the socially unconventional thing, when it serves my humanity or the collective is usually the right thing. Every time you open your mouth, I remember that I’m not alone in this world, even when you don’t know I’m watching one of your videos or listening to an episode.”

Ooooffff!!

Now, when I say I spent weeks being introspective, that’s the polished version.

Baaaayyybbbeee... I spiraled.

I went on a whole journey trying to understand how and why I had given up my own voice.

I wrestled with the balance between creating space for my own humanity and continuing to create for the collective. I examined how burnt out I actually was versus how burnt out I thought I was. I questioned where I was still being held together by dominant society’s fabricated glue.

And yes, I asked myself whether I was hiding.

And why.

(I know y’all didn’t think I only push you to dig deep, tell the truth, and sit with the journaling prompts that make you just a litttttllleee uncomfortable. As the old commercial says: “I’m not only the president, I’m also a client.” 😉)

The answers to those questions, and many others, are staying with me…for now.

But here’s what I am willing to share.

I’m making a commitment to myself to create at least once a week.

That will probably happen here on Substack. Sometimes it’ll happen on IG. For now, I’m intentionally keeping the commitment simple enough that it can stay joyful.

Otherwise it could very easily become something that feel punishing, another place where I turn my own humanity into a productivity metric, and I reeeeefffuuusseee!

My hope is that it reconnects me to the kind of creating that feels easeful and nourishing. The kind that feels like coming home to myself.

I don’t know where it will lead.

What I do know is that when creating feels joyful, easeful, and nourishing again, the next step will likely be inviting people back into an offering of some kind.

What offering?

No clue.

And honestly, that excites me.

I don’t want to force it. I don’t want to package something just because the internet rewards urgency and overproduction. I don’t want to build anything from depletion and then put a brand colored bow on it and call it purpose.

The only thing I can promise is that whatever comes next will be completely honest and authentic. No gimmicky nonsense, liberation cosplay or performance of depth because y’all already know how I feel about all that. Gag me with an entire drawer of silverware!

All I can promise you is Weeze.

So here I am, opening my mouth again.

Not just so y’all can hold me accountable to using my voice.

But so that maybe one more person remembers they’re not alone.

And if you’ve been waiting for a sign to use your own voice again, maybe this is it.

Also, if you don’t want to miss what comes next, subscribe here and come hang out with me on IG. Apparently, some of y’all have been paying attention even when I thought nobody was listening.)