Towards the end of last year, a few friends and I got together for a prayer night. You know that point just between the half way point of the year and just before the kids go back to school in the Fall, where exhaustion just hits its peak?

That point where you need a venti-sized energy boost to power through the remainder of the year?

I think we were all there.

Emotional.

On edge.

Not sharing with one another – desiring to, but everyone was afraid to poke the bear.

Until a prayer night answered the call and brought us all together in one room to release it all. As the night closed, we rose from our positions of worship, blotted our tear-filled eyes and circled up on the couch just to “check in” with other another and I posed the question “where are you?“

Where are you right now?

Like God did in the garden, I asked having a pretty good sense of where they were, emotionally: fragile. I was just sick of keeping it a thought. I wanted to hear it from their mouths. I started off the sharing, but what came out of my own mouth surprised me even more than any of their answers.

As I shared that, I couldn’t contain my emotion. The revelation was terrifying, even though it was a reality I’d been wrestling with for some time. I share it with you today to give just a small glimpse into the space I’m continuing to live in. In EVERY sphere in my life, the puzzle pieces just don’t fit the way they used to. And in the middle of, and after, a year of so-called BELONGING, it’s a unique experience to both feel a stronger sense of belonging to myself while also feeling like I just don’t belong in anything that was once so familiar and safe. And I say all this to give context to one area of tension currently. 

The other day, I overheard someone casually, yet under their breath, say “women should be seen and not heard.” Ya know in movies when directors can capture an entire scene, or a variety of thoughts, in what appears to be a split second daydream? That was me. In the span of about 3.7 seconds, the following thoughts ran through my head: 

“Wait, did I just hear what I think I heard?” 

“Why does that sound so familiar…oh yeah, CHILDREN should be seen and not heard.” 

“People still think that way?” 

“WOMEN think that way?” 

“That makes so much sense.” 

“Do enough women think that way that my purpose is pointless?” 

“Will the encouragement to pursue my business dreams even be genuine?” 

“What do they really think of all the lofty ideas I have to empower women?” 

“This explains the recent discomfort in what was once comfortable.” 

Be seen and not heard.

Be seen and be quiet, basically. 

I type it and my eyes water. 

I say it out loud and I cry. 

And I just cannot comprehend this to be reality in my world. 

It was my therapist who re-introduced me to my voice. I was 31 years old and she helped me discover that it’d been shut off decades before during repeated traumas and dysfunctional family roles. It would be months before I’d begin sharing my voice. Crawling, of course. First on my belly and eventually on my knees. I started walking during 2020 sometime and started connecting the dots on my repeated triggers realizing they either stemmed from rejection and abandonment…OR from my inability to have a voice. 

Be seen and not heard.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

I still can’t.

In the Bible, Jesus tells WOMEN to go and TELL the good news (Matthew 28:10). By definition, to tell is to communicate information, facts or news to someone in spoken or written word. God gave woman permission to be heard. Knowing what I know about Jesus – about how He honored women, gave them wisdom and unique giftings and authority and such a beautiful sensitivity to the Holy Spirit, is it possible He intended for me to simply be seen and not heard??

NO FRICKIN’ WAY. 

There’s no way I’d have all of these ideas swirling inside of me about how to activate women towards MORE,

No way I’d be so drawn to women who so passionately share their heart, their vulnerabilities, and their testimonies through spoken and written word,

No way I’d desire to cultivate my life in order to leap confidently in pursuit of what I believe to be true purpose…

Frankly, there’s no way I’d be so uncomfortable and triggered by that statement if it was, in fact, the truth.

I may be quite uncomfortable in a lot of once-comfortable spaces, but one certainty I’ll stand in despite my level of comfort is this: I am the daughter of a King and a woman who will be heard.