Over the last few years of not having a microphone echoing my voice through the sanctuary of a church, I’ve had a profound discovery—my voice matters.
While I’m no longer moving crowds, receiving accolades, or being part of growing organizations, I’ve grown in what some might argue is the most powerful way: I’ve learned to value me.
I’ve learned that my worth isn’t tied to a paycheck or a title. It isn’t tied to someone else’s opinion, affirmation, or applause. It’s rooted in one simple truth—I have value because I’m me.
This doesn’t come from some inflated sense of self. It’s not delusion or denial. It’s discovery. It’s the realization that I’m something I thought I wasn’t.
I’m someone with experiences, thoughts, and ideas that no one else will ever put together in quite the same way. Someone whose perspective, if left unspoken, might never be seen. Someone whose silence might mean someone else goes unseen or unheard.
And maybe for the first time in my life, I’ve realized that it’s not always me who’s wrong. Sometimes it’s those who, for their own reasons, have tried to shrink my worth.Not because they’re evil or hateful—sometimes it’s because they’re hurting. Their own wounds, traumas, or insecurities make them feel like diminishing others is the only way to survive.
I’m grateful for those who have spoken into my life over the years. I didn’t always listen right away, and this realization isn’t because I suddenly gained new insight—it’s because I finally learned to hear what’s been spoken all along.
A little while back, I met with someone whose life, faith, and courage I deeply admire. She reached out to me because she felt God nudging her to. We sat in a small coffee shop, laughed, cried, and shared stories.
And in that two-hour conversation, she said something that hit me like a lightning bolt.
When I talked about my trauma from the church—how I couldn’t understand why I was betrayed by someone I thought was a friend, or why no matter what I did, it was never enough—she looked at me and said words that changed me:
“Better was never the goal.”
In that moment, the Spirit of God spoke through her voice straight to my heart.
It wasn’t my brokenness that caused my pain.It wasn’t my lack of effort or some deep flaw in my soul.It wasn’t that I wasn’t enough.
It was that their goals weren’t what they said they were. Their version of “better” wasn’t rooted in love—it was rooted in control, fear, and self-protection.
Her words reminded me: just because I can see my flaws doesn’t mean they’re the reason for every hurt. Sometimes, the world around us really is broken. Sometimes the people setting the bar aren’t trying to help you reach it—they’re trying to make sure you never do.
Her voice mattered that day.And I hope mine matters for you today.
You might be painfully aware of your flaws and failures—others might be too. But that doesn’t mean you’re worth less. It doesn’t mean you deserve pain. It doesn’t mean you need to earn your value by meeting someone else’s expectations.
Sometimes people use your desire to be “better” to make themselves feel safe.
So pause and ask yourself:Is the goal really better—or just quieter? Are those you’re trying to please really for you, or are they just protecting themselves? Are you only as valuable as the hoops they tell you to jump through?
Or have you been made to believe that better was the goal, when in reality, your voice was what they feared most?
That day in the coffee shop, my friend’s voice—once silenced by her own pain—broke through and changed me.
A few days ago, my voice did the same for someone else.
Because I didn’t hold back.
And today, I hope it’s your turn.
Your voice matters.Not because it’s perfect.Not because it’s loud.Not because it’s accepted.
But because it’s yours—and the world would be incomplete without it.
So speak.
Share.
Believe.
Because better was never the goal.
But being you—fully, freely, and fearlessly—always was.