If you know me, you know I don't mince words. I am direct, honest, and I say what I mean. For a long time, though, I viewed my directness as a flaw. So many times, after getting into arguments or being misunderstood because of my straightforward tone, I would end up in tears, asking God: Why do I have so many issues communicating? Why can’t I just say things the "right" way?
In my exasperation—trying so hard to fix myself, over-explain, and manage every interaction in my own strength—I would lose the very thing that makes me bold: a tender heart combined with a strong voice. My story is marked by abuse, pain, and survival, but it is also defined by incredible strength and wisdom. When I don't set proper boundaries or when I let those boundaries fail, I end up losing myself. I stop speaking from a place of love and start speaking from a place of defense or exhaustion.
While in New Orleans, I visited Congo Square—a place deeply rooted in history, struggle, and undeniable spirit. Historically, it was the open space where enslaved Africans gathered on Sundays to play drums, sing, dance, and express the fullest truth of who they were despite the heavy bondage around them. Standing before the monument in Congo Square, looking at the bronze relief of ancestors dancing and beating drums, something clicked in my spirit. Those men and women refused to let oppressive circumstances erase their expression or silence their innate rhythm. Their passion, strength, and presence overflowed because it was woven into their very identity by God. It reminded me that a strong, expressive voice isn't something to apologize for or suppress out of fear of how others will receive it. It is a powerful tool of resilience and truth.
During that same trip, I stayed in a hostel surrounded by strangers from all over the world—Germany, Austria, France, Texas, and Louisiana. Far away from my usual routine, without the noise of expectations or the need to prove anything, a clear truth emerged: I make people laugh. I make people feel seen. My voice isn't a weapon or a mistake; it is a gift designed to bring connection and light. But I realized it only functions the way God intended when I respect the One who sees it all—when I step back and allow Him to go first.
In Scripture, James 1:19 encourages us to be "quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry." And Proverbs 15:1 reminds us that "a gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger."
Having a strong, direct voice doesn't mean I have to tone down who I am or apologize for my existence. It means learning to submit my boldness to the Holy Spirit. When I try to control conversations, defend myself, or power through on my own, my directness can turn sharp. But when I let God go first—when I step back, protect my boundaries, and anchor my heart in Him—my voice becomes a tool to bring joy, honor my strength, and make people feel truly seen.
My voice was never meant to be silenced; it was made to be used with tenderness, truth, and grace.