In 2017, I had just left a job where I had been a voice.

I had been the voice of the people I served: listening to their stories, bringing them back to company leadership, turning them into action that moved the needle.

I had been my VP’s voice, too: writing his weekly executive blog illuminating how strategic initiatives supported the goals that many front-line employees aspired to.

I had been the voice of the business, helping company leaders describe to 40,000 front-line workers what would be happening and what needed to be done in the simplest way possible.

And I had connected stories across functions, helping people in different areas recognize their contribution to the whole story; helping them have conversations about how to streamline and improve processes so they could all achieve results.

My voice stopped when I left that job.

I was burnt out. I was ready for something new. But I had no idea how to let go of who I had been, to become someone who worked somewhere else. I did a lot of networking, informational interviews – and all I learned was that I had lost my voice.

I started a blog – this blog. Go back and read the earliest posts – I clearly had lost my voice.

And I knew it! Which made it worse…

Then I remembered a silent woman I had met in grad school.

She never spoke up in class. When she tried to speak up in small group projects, people talked over her. After a summer break, I noticed a change in her: she spoke up in class, she disagreed with people, she advocated for her views. She demanded that her voice be heard. I told her I was impressed by the change. I asked what was different.

“I joined Toastmasters,” she told me.

Toastmasters became my solution to being voiceless.

I lucked into The Westside Talkers – a chapter that meets 45 minutes away from my house. It was the perfect chapter for me: warm, welcoming, with none of the business networking that happens in some chapters. I was impressed by the number of people with stutters, or for whom English was a second language, or who got up and spoke despite physical challenges that made it difficult. After my second meeting, I joined. I did my first speech two meetings later.

I started to find my voice.

Since then, I’ve spoken in every role during the meeting. I completed the first 10 speeches that formed the core progression. I continued giving speeches, finding more of my voice with each one. I developed my speech evaluation skills, learning how to use my voice to help others find theirs. Now I’m on the leadership committee for the chapter, helping to organize meetings, keeping the club going through the pandemic.

But I still like to take my turn giving speeches.

Usually my speeches are funny, quirky. I’ve inherited my father’s and my grandfather’s love of storytelling. And I love giving speeches that make lightbulbs go off over people’s heads.

But recently I felt like a part of my voice was still missing.

So this week I gave a different kind of speech.

The topic was a risk: it wasn’t funny or inspiring. It wasn’t a topic that people might see themselves in.

The meeting had to move online at the last minute due to an elevator malfunction. So I wouldn’t be able to use body language, and the audience would be focused entirely on my face and my voice, making it more intimate for both me and my listeners.

The other speaker had to reschedule last minute which meant my serious topic carried more weight on the agenda.

And the online nature meant the number of people attending had dropped by half, with about 50% first-time attendees. If they didn’t enjoy the meeting, they might not come back and find their own voices.

There were a lot of reasons not to do this speech, to do a more uplifting speech, something I had done before, maybe the uplifting eulogy that I had done for my favorite aunt the week before…

But I stuck with my topic.

Having your own voice means using all aspects of it, not just saying the things that people enjoy listening to.

I didn’t fall off the stage…

…as one of my acting teachers used to say. The speech went well. I delivered it effectively. It clearly impacted the audience. (A little too much for that setting, perhaps, they looked stunned.) In retrospect, I realize that I had organized the material ineffectively – it was compelling but it didn’t convey the point that I wanted to communicate. But I received great feedback about the speech and my delivery.

And people have been reaching out to me since them to praise my bravery.

At first I was outwardly grateful but inwardly dismissive – what bravery? I gave a speech; that’s what I do.

Then I thought back on my last-minute inner debate about which speech I would do, picking a speech that was “right” for that meeting. Had that been strategic thinking? Or fear?

The truth is, it would have been easy to have that inner debate about delivering that speech at any meeting. When you are doing something that makes you feel uncomfortable, it is easy to find reasons not to do it.

But that’s no reason not to do it.

This speech did not transform my life or suddenly alleviate the emotions associated with the topic. I didn’t expect or want it to do that.

But it did help me find a part of my voice that usually stays silent.

A part of my voice that I had lost.