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Finding your voice means being able to express what you think, feel or need in words that sound like you. It does not require a perfect explanation. Sometimes it begins with noticing the difference between what you say automatically and what you actually mean.
Have you ever heard yourself say something and thought, "That's what I always say. But is it actually what I mean?"
Perhaps it's "I'm fine" when someone asks how you are. Perhaps you agree to something before you've had time to decide whether you want to. Or you find yourself explaining a feeling so carefully that, by the time you've finished, you've almost talked yourself out of having it.
Sometimes we know what we want to say. We just aren't sure what will happen if we say it.
Other times, the words aren't there yet.
I came across a version of this in my own writing.
When I first started writing about counselling, I thought sounding professional meant sounding like a therapist.
Unfortunately, I also sounded a little like a government department.
Every paragraph felt as if it had been reviewed by three committees and was awaiting ministerial approval. If I could say something in ten words, I'd somehow find a way of saying it in a hundred.
And strangely, I thought I was writing well.
I'd be watching television with my wife when inspiration would strike.
"I've got it. I've got the next article."
Off I'd disappear. A few hours later, I'd emerge looking pleased with myself, having turned a fairly simple idea into something suspiciously like a government white paper.
Eventually, I started asking whether I would actually want to read it myself.
Sometimes the answer was no.
I was using the language I'd learned rather than the language I actually spoke. Training had given me a professional voice. Experience was teaching me I still needed my own.
I don't think this is unique to counselling.
Most of us begin by borrowing voices from somewhere. Teachers, parents, authors, managers, lecturers, colleagues and mentors leave traces in the way we communicate.
At first, that's useful. When we're learning something new, we often start by copying people who know more than we do. I certainly did.
The challenge comes later, when the words we've borrowed become so familiar that we stop asking whether they fit us.
In my writing, I was beginning to realise that understanding an idea didn't mean I had to explain it in the same way as the person who taught it to me.
We learn different ways of speaking in different places.
You might sound confident at work, reassuring at home and easy-going with friends. Perhaps you're the person who makes everyone laugh, keeps the peace or always seems to know what to do. Those ways of being can be useful. You don't have to speak to your manager in the same way you speak to someone you've known since school.
If you're always the reassuring one, where does your uncertainty go? If you're the person who can cope with anything, how do you tell someone you're struggling? You might have learned that disagreement leads to an argument. That asking for something makes you demanding. That being upset means someone else becomes upset, and you end up looking after them instead.
So you adapt. You keep the difficult part to yourself.
Over time, that can become so familiar that you hardly notice you're doing it.
Sometimes the clue is in what happens after a conversation.
You replay it on the way home. You feel irritated even though you agreed. You wish you'd said something different, or said anything at all.
There might have been a moment when you started to speak and changed direction.
"Actually, I... no, it doesn't matter."
Perhaps it did matter.
It can be useful to notice those moments. What were you about to say? What made you stop?
You don't need to turn every conversation into an investigation. Nobody wants to be sitting over their cornflakes conducting a full review of yesterday's communication strategy.
But if the same feeling keeps returning, it may be worth listening to.
Your voice may already be there in the way you talk now. It doesn't necessarily need to become more polished or more emotional to count.
Finding your voice doesn't require you to become more eloquent, more emotional or louder than you are. It's more about being able to say what you mean in a way that sounds like you.
We sometimes wait until we can explain something perfectly before we allow ourselves to bring it up.
By then, we've rehearsed the conversation so many times that we're exhausted and the other person hasn't heard a word of it.
You can begin with less.
"I said yes, but I've realised I'm not comfortable with it."
"I don't know exactly what I need yet."
Or simply, "I'm not sure how to explain this."
An incomplete sentence is enough to begin a conversation.
You may discover what you mean while someone listens, or change your mind halfway through. What starts as anger might not be only anger.
That isn't getting it wrong. It's part of working something out.
Some conversations feel safer than others, and finding words doesn't mean you have to share everything with everyone. You can choose the person, the moment and how much you want to say.
In counselling, you can talk about the things you usually soften, explain away or leave unsaid.
You can notice the words you reach for automatically and ask whether they still fit. You can try saying something differently or come back to it another week.
You don't have to become a different person to be heard. You can be capable and tired. And enjoying looking after other people doesn't mean you never want someone to look after you.
In my writing, I gradually learned that I could speak plainly without leaving behind what I'd learned. The therapeutic knowledge was still there, but it wasn't wearing a name badge and introducing itself every five minutes. As I became more confident in what I'd learned, I stopped feeling that I had to prove it in every paragraph.
I could use a story, an ordinary word or a bit of humour. There was room for the occasional football reference, too. Although I appreciate that the football may be more occasional from my perspective than from my wife's.
The same can happen in other parts of our lives. We might keep the kindness we learned from a parent while realising it's okay to disagree with them. A mentor can still matter to us even when we reach a different conclusion. And taking our work seriously doesn't mean we have to use words we'd never normally say.
That doesn't mean every sentence comes easily. But we can begin to recognise ourselves in what we're saying.
Perhaps that's a useful place to start in the next conversation.
"Does this sound like what I mean?"
If you recognise yourself in those automatic responses, try writing down one recent conversation. Keep it simple:
· What did I say?
· What did I mean, or what am I still trying to understand?
· What is one sentence I could use next time?
“I’m fine” might become “I’ve had a difficult day, and I don’t want to talk about all of it yet.” A quick yes might become “Let me think about that and come back to you.” You can be honest and still choose your boundaries. This is a reflection exercise, not a test.
If you would like to understand what talking with a counsellor involves, BACP’s explanation of counselling describes the process and what to expect.
Finding your voice means expressing what you think, feel or need in words that feel like your own. It does not require you to become louder or more eloquent. It can start with noticing when your usual response no longer reflects what you mean.
Choose a person and a moment that feel safe enough. Begin with one honest sentence, such as “I’m not sure how to explain this” or “I need some time to think.” You can work out the rest as the conversation develops.
There can be many reasons, including habit, privacy, uncertainty or concern about another person’s reaction. Notice what happens before you say it and what you wish you could say instead. You do not have to share more than feels appropriate.
Counselling can offer space to explore thoughts and feelings that are difficult to put into words. You can notice familiar responses, try different ways of expressing yourself and talk at your own pace. You do not need a polished explanation before starting.
If you would like to take the next step, browse specialists on SympathiQ and compare their profiles. Ask about relevant experience and the practical details before deciding who you would like to speak with.
About the author: Stuart Walker writes about counselling, communication and the experiences that shape how we understand ourselves.
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