Finding my voice

2/18/20257 min read

// Introduction

One thing is for sure, people struggle to find 'their' voice but for others, it comes naturally.

Everyone struggles with it - thats why people go along to classes to become better speakers and they push themselves outside their comfort zones to deliver a Ted talk on a subject they've been wanting to talk about for so long.

For some people though, speaking up and being themselves is effortless (or at least, it appears that way) - they can walk into a room, their presence demands attention. Their words flow with confidence, like they exited the womb knowing exactly what to say and how to say it.

I've had people say to me that they find my confidence baffling, that they wish they could speak in front of people like me but I promise you, there were times in my life that I wanted to speak but I couldn't.

There were times that I hid in the background because I thought it was easier (I still do it sometimes) - there were also times when I thought it was probably best if I just changed who I was to fit in, hoping that by blending in, it would somehow give me the confidence to stand out.

// The Playground

It's weird when I look back at myself as a kid because I can still see it, I can still feel it. There I was, crouched down low - the kind of crouch where your knees touch your shoulders and your head bows down between your knees and I can still see (and again, feel) the grey, cracked concrete of the playground.

There were the normal shouts of the kids darting between games of tag and football - in all honesty, they probably didn't even notice me sat crouched down in the middle of a playground on a normal day in the late 80's. I don’t remember what set me off that day. I just remember the feeling - the frustration clawing at my throat, the lump in my chest growing heavier, the overwhelming urge to let it all out but having no idea how.

So I screamed. I cried and I let that anger out of me.

It wasn’t words. It wasn’t language. Just a raw, desperate sound rising up out of me which cut through the noise of the playground. I was then mocked, ridiculed and laughed at while the kids pointed at me - that obviously made everything worse and I ran - I blindly ran away from the teachers and the kids and made my way around the school building and I hid.

I remember the noise dying down around the school as the break time ended and I could hear the footsteps of Mr Anderson (the headteacher) as he marched around the school grounds looking for me - Mr Anderson was my mums headteacher and at the time, Mrs Vernon was my teacher - she has also been my mums teacher - they'd been at that school for well over 10-15 years and it was more like an institution.

I ran from the school that was meant to feel familiar, the same school my mum had walked through years before, with some of the same teachers who had taught her - but it was completely alien to me. My dad had just left us and my whole world was crumbling down - I hated school as I had no confidence in who I was anymore and I didn't want to be there, hence the running.

The thing is - I felt invisible in that school. Even then, back in the summer of 1988 - I hated not being seen or heard and the frustration would manifest itself in an emotional outburst.

I mean, the whole school experience wasn't all bad - I made friends, it was the 80's - there were computers just arriving in school which the teachers knew nothing about. I remember being hauled out of a primary school classroom to go and help fix a BBC Electron computer because I was one of the only kids in the school who knew how to load a floppy disk and get the programs running - madness.

The biggest overriding factor with my time at that school though was loneliness - I withdrew from the social interactions instead of engaging as that was the only place I actually felt safe - being by myself.

// The Head Shave

The army was a world away from childhood, but some things hadn’t changed - believe it or not, I was still the quiet one.

I remember that first week in the Army accommodation - my 'section' - a dozen of us, crammed into a room with metal-framed beds and scratchy grey blankets and fresh white linen sheets, thrown together from different corners of the country.

Paul was from Scotland, Matt (not me, another one) was from London - The room was thick with testosterone, bravado and nervous energy, but that didn’t stop the stories from home. One by one, they went around, trading tales from their childhood and where they were from once the lights went out - stupid things they’d done, fights they’d won, things they’d gotten away with.

Laughter and banter bounced off the walls, and I just sat there, listening.

I had stories too. I just wasn’t ready to tell them and I definitely wasn't going to join in.

That was until the next morning when they shaved our heads. No exceptions.

One by one, we sat in the chair at the Army barbers and the buzzing clippers erased whatever was left of our individual identities. By the time I stood up and looked around, something had shifted. We all looked the same and the differences - the ones that had made me hesitate, made me feel separate from everyone else had been stripped away.

And suddenly, that silence I’d carried with me felt lighter. That afternoon, when the stories started up again whilst we were sat around on one of the beds, I spoke. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember the feeling. I wasn’t just listening anymore. I was part of it because I was like everyone else.

What was weird was that I don't remember what I said but I remember all their faces - they were shocked to hear me talk, they were stunned when I interjected and gave a short story or made a comment because I was the kid who was the quiet one but at that moment, I didn't care.

At that stage, fitting in gave me a voice because I was like everyone else - we were in a shared experience and because I had to look like everyone else, I actually was being like everyone else - It worked, that crazy head shaving thing.

I'm guessing thats why speaking classes, yoga classes, sea-dips and football matches all bring out the best in people - you're all there to share an experience and you're sharing that experience together.

What that doesn't do is give you a voice but it allows you to fit in enough to speak, it gives you the confidence to share and it allows you to be a part of something.

// The Now

Fast forward to now, and the lesson is clear - you can fit in anymore and that should never be the goal to actually have a voice.

For a long time, I thought it was - I mean, thats what everyone does in business - everyone appears polished, professional and if I showed up like everyone else, then I’d finally feel comfortable speaking up.

That was the pattern.

After all, in school, silence was easier than trying to explain myself. In the army, I spoke when I looked like everyone else. And in business, I assumed the same rule applied - be the same and you'll get by just fine.

So, as I did when I learned to fit in when I was in the Army, I watched. I observed how people in the business world showed up - polite, corporate, perfectly packaged and online, everyone speaks the same way - Everyone wearing the same suit, using the same phrases, producing the same kind of content.

Safe. Predictable. Almost robotic. (and fucking boring).

For a while, I tried to play the game. I wrote the ‘right’ kind of posts, kept things neutral, avoided anything that felt too personal. I stuck to the blueprint that seemed to be working for everyone else but deep down, I knew it wasn’t working for me and I doubt it'll ever work for you.

The truth is, I didn’t want to blend in anymore. I’d spent too much of my life trying to be like everyone else just to feel comfortable enough to speak. But the truth dawned on me - no one really listens to someone who’s just like everyone else. The people who stand out, the ones who build real connections, are the ones who own what makes them different, the mistakes they make, their views which don't align with the mainstream and more importantly, their opinions on things.

I asked myself a tough question (and I want you to ask the same question of yourself) - if I was just adding to the noise, what was the point in speaking at all?

That's when I stopped trying to sound like everyone else and started showing up as me. I leaned into my experiences, my perspective, my way of telling stories. I now write how I want to write and I deliver stories instead of tips, tricks and checklists - the difference is that I say what I actually believe, and stopped worrying about whether it was the ‘right’ way to do things.

Incredibly, that’s when people really started listening and more importantly, when they starting to take notice.

Because being different isn’t a weakness. It’s the thing that makes you unforgettable - in business, in life, in relationships - having the courage to be yourself is the biggest differentiator and it's what makes you, you.

Now, I don’t try to fit in - I don't try to stand out - I don’t try to sound like the crowd - I show up as myself - because after all these years, I’ve realised my voice wasn’t something I had to find. It was always there. I just had to stop hiding it.

// Round Up

Looking back, my journey to finding my voice wasn’t really about finding anything - it was about unlearning the idea that I had to be something else to be heard.

As a child, I struggled to speak, not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because I didn’t know how to say it in a way the world would understand.

The frustration, the isolation - it all came from feeling like my voice didn’t fit.

In the army, I found comfort in being the same as everyone else - I actually found the space to speak up when I looked like everyone else, when I felt like I belonged.

But that wasn’t really my voice - it was just the first time I’d felt safe enough to use it.

And in business, I almost fell into the same trap. I thought that to be successful, I had to do what everyone else was doing.

Speak like them, act like them, fit the mould. But I know now - that’s the fastest way to disappear.

The truth is, your voice isn’t found in sameness. It’s in the parts of you that don’t quite fit. The parts that make you different, that make you stand out, that make people remember you.