Finding My Voice at 50: A Journey of Unlearning**
At the age of 50, I came to a sudden, startling realization: I had never truly spoken up. Not really. Not in the way that matters. For five long decades, I had been the person who stayed quiet, the one who knew the art of silence like a master pianist knows the keys. This blog is the story of how I got here and the steps I’m taking to reverse a behavior that, ironically, I’ve been praised for my entire life.
You see, I was a ‘good kid.’ And what does that even mean, really? For some, it might mean academic success, or being polite. But for me, it meant one thing: I had a knack for keeping my mouth shut. This talent for silence didn’t go unnoticed. My parents? Proud. My teachers? Impressed. Even the strangers at the bank seemed to admire the quiet kid who never made a fuss. “What a well-behaved boy,” they’d say. And I believed them. Why wouldn’t I? When the world smiles at you for something, you take it as a sign you’re on the right path.
But don’t get me wrong. My parents are, and always have been, wonderful people. I don't blame them for applauding this quiet version of me. What parent wouldn’t be thrilled to have a child whose natural inclination is to sit quietly and not cause a scene? I get it. I really do. I have two children of my own now, and believe me, they express themselves... a lot. They voice their wants, their feelings, their frustrations loudly and often. And I encourage them to do so as much as possible, to be the opposite of me. But I won’t lie I sometimes fantasize, just for a second, about them sitting quietly for hours on end.
But this isn't about my kids. It's about me. And the truth is, being the ‘good kid’ inevitably led to being the ‘good student,’ and then the ‘good employee.’ You know the type. The one who keeps his head down and works diligently. “Hey, look at that guy,” they'd say, “He doesn’t stir the pot, he just gets things done. Why can’t everyone be like him?”
And so, I’ve done okay. I’ve lived a good life. At least, that’s what I told myself. I never thought of my quietness as a flaw. It never occurred to me that it had woven itself into the fabric of my relationships, my career, my very sense of who I am, until I met Sami.
Sami. The love of my life, my wife, the mother of my children. Sami is strong, outspoken, and knows exactly what she wants. And the one thing she wants most from me? She wants me to communicate. To speak my truth, to share my feelings, to tell her what I want. And standing next to this force of nature, I came to an uncomfortable realization: I had no idea how to do that.
For fifty years, my mantra had been, “Whatever I’m about to say will only make things worse. If I just keep quiet, everything will work itself out. I have nothing of value to add to this conversation.” This had been my comfort zone -a silent fortress. But now, that fortress felt more like a prison.
It’s paralyzing, and I hate that it’s taken me this long to learn something that should be so simple. Speak up. Tell them what you think. Tell them how you feel. Easy, right? Sure, if you’re used to it. But for me? It’s like trying to learn a foreign language in the middle of a conversation.
I know I’m not alone. I know there are others out there, particularly of my generation, who have been taught to value silence over speaking their truth. So, I’m going to document this journey, this struggle, this awakening. I’ll be sharing more of my story -how I reached this point, and the steps I’m taking to unlearn decades of silence.
I’m a work in progress. We all are. But if my journey resonates with even one of you, if my story helps someone else find their voice, then every uncomfortable step will be worth it.
Thank you for listening. I hope it helps.
\- Bradley