There comes a moment, often quiet, sometimes urgent, when a woman realises she has gone missing from her own life. Not in body, perhaps, but in voice. She has become the dependable one, the caregiver, the achiever, the one who keeps everything together. She knows how to soothe others, how to show up, and how to meet expectations. And yet, somewhere along the way, her own voice, the one that speaks her truth, names her needs, expresses her desires, has been dimmed or silenced altogether.
Reclaiming your voice after silence isn’t a performance. It’s not about being louder or more assertive just for the sake of it. It’s an inner reckoning. A return. A reclaiming of self after years of prioritising roles over reality, people-pleasing over presence, and perfectionism over authenticity. While this journey is deeply personal, it is also profoundly political, because to reclaim your voice is to reclaim your life.
In psychological terms, the loss of voice often indicates chronic self-abandonment. When we grow up in environments that reward compliance, punish emotional expression, or prioritise performance over personhood, we learn to disconnect from our own internal cues. This adaptive tactic may keep us safe in the short term, but over time, it damages our relationship with ourselves. We often forget how to identify our emotions. We doubt what we want. We internalise the belief that to be good, we must be small.
Women are especially susceptible to this kind of fragmentation. Socialised to care for others, avoid conflict, and be agreeable and accommodating, many women learn early that expressing their needs or establishing boundaries involves relational risks. Moreover, the cultural reverence for motherhood, self-sacrifice, and perfectionism, and it’s no wonder that many women reach midlife feeling voiceless, invisible, or emotionally drained.
But neuroscience offers us hope. Our brains are not fixed. Our patterns, although learned, can be unlearned. The concept of neuroplasticity shows us that with awareness, compassion, and repeated experience, we can rewire the neural pathways that once silenced us. The ventral vagal state, as described in Polyvagal Theory (Porges, 2011), is where our authentic voice resides, where we feel safe enough to be seen, heard, and connected. The more we create conditions of safety within ourselves and our relationships, the more our true voice begins to emerge.
It’s crucial to recognise that reclaiming your voice isn’t just about speaking. It starts with listening, deeply and gently, to yourself. What is the silence shielding? What’s the price of remaining silent? What truth is ready to emerge, even if your voice wavers? From a trauma-informed perspective, we acknowledge that silence may have once been a survival tactic. It kept the peace. It avoided rejection. It fostered belonging. But what protected us then might now be holding us back.
The voice that starts to reemerge is often not polished. It may sound messy, angry, tender, or uncertain. That is part of the healing process. In Internal Family Systems therapy (Schwartz, 2001), we see the inner critic, the perfectionist, and the people-pleaser as parts, well-meaning protectors that develop in response to pain. But we also trust that beneath these parts is a Self: whole, wise, and clear. Reclaiming your voice involves allowing that Self to speak.
Caregiving, in all its forms, often silences this voice. Whether parenting, caring for ageing parents, supporting a partner, or managing emotional labour at work, women are encouraged to focus outward. To prioritise others’ needs over their own. Over time, this leads to a kind of psychological amnesia, we forget how to centre ourselves without guilt. We forget that we, too, deserve space.
Perfectionism also plays a significant role. It often presents itself as motivation or responsibility but masks a more profound fear of inadequacy or rejection. Perfectionism demands high performance, but authentic voice and genuine expression require vulnerability. It asks us to risk being misunderstood, to accept imperfection, and to speak even when our words might not be welcomed. That is why reclaiming one’s voice is an act of bravery. It involves being willing to show our true selves, not just our highlight reel.
The process of voice reclamation is not straightforward. It develops gradually, often through small moments: saying no without apology, naming a need before resentment takes hold, disagreeing without explaining yourself, starting to write again, singing in the car, telling the truth, first to yourself, then to someone you trust. These acts are not insignificant; they reignite agency, vitality, and choice.
From a somatic viewpoint, the voice resides in the body. The vagus nerve, which is key in regulating the nervous system, also supplies the vocal cords. When we feel safe, we speak more openly. When threatened, our voice may tremble, tighten, or disappear entirely. Reclaiming your voice, then, is not just a psychological act; it is also physiological. It might involve breathwork, movement, singing, or simply placing a hand on your throat as a gesture of reconnection.
Therapeutically, supporting women in reclaiming their voice involves creating safety, gradually re-establishing boundaries, and fostering self-trust. It requires a therapist who listens not only to the story but also to the silences, who understands how to hold space without filling it. It may also involve unlearning internalised beliefs about worth, goodness, and desirability. These are not quick fixes. They are profound rewritings.
And yet, each time a woman finds her voice again, the world shifts. A new possibility emerges, not just for her, but for every woman watching. Because voice isn’t just about words. It’s about power. It’s about presence. It’s about remembering that your life belongs to you.
So, if you feel lost in your roles, if perfectionism has muted your truth, if caregiving has overshadowed your own care, know this: your voice is still there. It has not vanished. It has been waiting. And now, it is ready to come back, perhaps not as a roar, but maybe first as a whisper. One that says: I’m here. I matter. I remember.
References
Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-regulation. W.W. Norton & Company.
Schwartz, R. C. (2001). Internal Family Systems Therapy. Guilford Press.
Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Gotham Books.
Neff, K. D. (2011). Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself. William Morrow.