Living in the Shadow of My Sister’s Rage
Losing My Voice Along the Way and Learning to Hear It Again
I call out into the void,
But my voice stays hidden, cloaked,
A faint whisper, a ghost of a song,
Lost in shadows where it once belonged.
I reach for it with trembling hands,
Desperate to grasp what slips like sand.
Where are you, voice, my truest guide?
Come back to me — I’m tired of the quiet inside.
I’ve felt this ache inside me — a longing to find my voice again, the authentic expression of who I am. It’s the voice that speaks from the core of my being, unafraid and unapologetic. The voice I yearn to share with the world.
But every time I try to speak, I freeze. My voice doesn’t come out — not the way I want it to. It’s tangled in judgment and echoes of criticism, like a relationship hard to mend. I laid down on my bed, tears on my cheek as I listened to an audiobook, Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés.
In it, she tells the story of The Tiger’s Eyelashes. A woman seeks help from a healer because her husband, after returning from war, has become cold, distant, and indifferent. The healer tells her to venture into the mountains and retrieve a tiger’s eyelash. The task seems impossible, but the woman perseveres, patiently gaining the tiger’s trust by bringing it food and showing kindness. Eventually, the tiger allows her to pluck an eyelash. When she brings it back to the healer, he tosses it into the fire. She screams, “No! Why did you do that?” The healer replies: “Now, go home and do with your husband what you did with the tiger.”
The story struck something deep within me, though at first, I couldn’t clearly see how it connected to my life. I slept through the night with pain in my throat from trying to force my voice out.
In the morning, restless and tired, the memory of my younger sister appeared. She was the loud one in our home — the one with the strong voice. Growing up, she struggled with psoriasis. Her inflamed skin often left her emotional, and she’d rage at me. I excused her behavior because of her suffering. I learned to silence myself to avoid conflict, to let her voice take up space while mine disappeared. Over time, I stopped believing my voice mattered. My silence became a way of life — a way to keep the peace, even if it meant losing parts of myself.
Now, I see that my struggle with finding my voice is about a lifetime of learned silence. It’s about all the times I stayed quiet, all the moments I let others’ voices drown out my own. My voice — my authentic self — feels like that husband who came back from war. It feels wounded, distant, and cold. And just like the tiger, it won’t be tamed through force or impatience. I’ve spent so long trying to rush the process, hoping my voice would heal instantly, but now I see that isn’t how healing works.
This journey is messy and far from over. There are still days when I feel stuck, when the silence feels heavier than the progress. But I’m beginning to understand that healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a process of showing up, even in the face of fear and doubt.
I hold compassion for my sister and the role she played in this story. Her struggles were real, and her voice was her way of surviving. But I also hold compassion for myself — for the times I stayed quiet, for the battles I lost, for the voice I gave away to keep the peace.
Now, I’m reclaiming it — not with force, but with love. My voice is waiting for me, and I’m learning to meet it where it is, step by step. Because like the tiger, it deserves patience, trust, and care.
My voice deserves to take up space. It deserves to be heard. And slowly, day by day, it’s finding its way back to me.
I will wait for you, no matter how long,
Through the silence, through the song.
Step by step, I’ll earn your trust,
With love, with care — I’ll rise from the dust.
Come when you’re ready, no need to hide,
I’m here with open arms, by your side.
This time, I promise, I’ll hold my ground —
Trust me, dear voice, I won’t let you down.
This journey of reclaiming my voice is far from over, but I’m learning to meet myself with patience and love. If you’ve ever felt silenced, lost, or unsure how to express your truest self, know that you’re not alone. Healing takes time, but each step — no matter how small — is a step toward freedom.
If this story resonated with you, I invite you to join me on this journey of self-discovery and healing. By subscribing to my newsletter, you’ll receive more stories, reflections, and insights on finding courage, connection, and authenticity in a noisy world. Together, we can create a space where our voices are heard and celebrated.
Let’s walk this path together, one word at a time. 🌿