I was talking to a friend recently about an upcoming speaking engagement where I’ve been asked to share my lived experience with managing CPTSD in the Workplace. I was trying to figure out how much I would share and how vulnerable I was willing to be. As a trauma survivor, I have the obligatory “all or nothing” thinking, which I was attempting to moderate through this deliberation.
She cautioned me about sharing too much and making it about me because people tend to tune out when you make it all about your experience. I agree with her on that, but when I speak, I am not speaking for myself; I speak for those who have yet to find their voice. Like Madeleine K. Albright, it took me a long time to find my voice, and now that I’ve found it, I want to use it in the service of others.
This conversation led to a very interesting journal entry last night about why I speak and why I want to show up courageously for myself and others like me. Speaking about trauma is not really about me. My one little story is one among billions of other stories just like mine. It’s not about “I”; it’s about “us.” It’s not about “me”; it’s about “we.” I speak for those who have not yet found their voice. I speak for those who are still surviving the pain of their past and doing the very best they can. I speak for those who work hard to hide how much they struggle at work. I speak for those who are afraid of losing their jobs because they struggle to perform at work. I speak for those who can’t concentrate on their work because their minds are spinning. I speak for those who can’t make it through a day without crying at least once. I speak for those who are so depressed and hopeless that they struggle to get out of bed in the morning. I speak for those who are trying to get help with therapy but are too emotionally exhausted to work afterward. I speak for those who need more than once-a-week therapy sessions but can’t afford any more than that. I speak for those who can’t afford therapy and need it badly. I speak for those parents who are trying desperately not to pass their trauma onto their children. I speak for those who have survived so much growing up only to have to still survive toxic relationships and work environments. I speak for those who feel alone in a crowd and don’t feel like they belong anywhere. I speak for those who are too hurt to trust. I speak for those who have no idea how amazing they are. I speak for those who are too ashamed to ask for help. I speak for those who overfunction as a way of having control. I speak for those who feel the need to please everyone.
These are the ones I speak for. These are the ones I work for. These are the ones I advocate for. These are the ones I am willing to show up courageously and vulnerably for. Maybe I speak for you.
I see you. I hear you. You matter. I care.