How to Use Your Voice in Spaces That Silence You

Hello,

Several months ago, two women on the flight with me back from the Cayman Islands didn’t curse or raise their voices. With a pointed nod, one of them just leaned toward the flight attendant and asked if I belonged there with them in first class. I was the only Black woman in the cabin, sipping ginger ale and reading on my iPad like everyone else. I didn’t know what would happen if I spoke up. So I silenced my voice because I didn’t know how far they would take it.

Thankfully, the flight attendant didn’t escalate. She looked at them and said, “She has a ticket just like you do.” That should’ve been the end of it, but the shame of it lingered with me as those around me whispered about the moment..

What cut deepest wasn’t just the question. It was those who asked it, a lesbian couple who should’ve known the sting of being told you don’t belong. It’s the kind of moment that settles into your body and doesn’t leave.

The Inheritance of Silence

My grandson was only one year old when a man in a hotel lobby pointed at him and screamed, “Don’t let that little n***** near me.”

The boy stood between his parents, waiting for my husband and me to exit the elevator. He was still just a baby. One year old, and already facing racial slurs. We were all silent as we watched the hotel manager kick him out of the Marriott lobby.

Every Black person remembers the first time they heard the N-word, we automatically lean into the taught resiliency mantra “It’s not what they call you – it’s what you respond to”. For me, it was in fifth grade, I was walking to my piano lesson because I bought candy with my bus money, as I walked I could hear a group of kids screaming N-word B-tch over and over again. They were getting closer and I kept walking steadily.

Then I felt a shove on my, “Hey, I’m talking to you, I turned around and was circled by the group. We want your N-word A** to know your place. I pushed through the circle to keep on to my destination. But as I tried to get through a girl pulled my ponytail. I turned around and pushed her. It was the first time I had laid hands on another person. She fell, I ran. That moment landed hard.

So when my grandson was targeted, I felt the echo of that group’s words. The loneliness of the moment and how through it, I kept silent. This is how silence gets passed down from generation to generation. It’s a survival technique that teaches us not when to speak, but when it’s too dangerous to try.

Dr. William Smith calls this racial battle fatigue, the cumulative strain of avoiding attention in spaces where you’re seen as a threat, an anomaly, or a mistake. It’s a constant source of stress that takes its toll on your body and voice.

Holding Peace Under Pressure

Some of the worst triggers are the ones at work. That’s where we’re expected to hold our tongues while holding everything together. Early in my healthcare career, one of my registrars and a union rep was a tough lady, but deep down, she was dedicated to helping take care of people.

When a physician on staff called her a “porch monkey,” I went nuts. I took it straight to HR, who told me, “You have to let this go.”

And I said, “No. He needs to be accountable for his actions and punished accordingly. He needs to apologize. He needs to be put on leave without pay. He needs to experience the same thing you would’ve given her if she had insulted him.”

The hospital disciplined the doctor because I refused to back down. I still think about how often she experienced something similar, and no one fought for her.

Black women face some of the highest rates of being “on guard” at work, constantly self-monitoring to maintain others’ comfort at the cost of their well-being. It’s an emotional tax that forces Black employees to suppress parts of themselves, anticipate discrimination, and work twice as hard while never being seen as quite good enough or their silence being labeled as aggressiveness.

Nearly 60% of people of color say it affects their ability to thrive at work. And for Black women, that tax includes being interrupted, underestimated, and punished for asserting boundaries. What’s more, official complaints can backfire. According to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, 75% of workplace harassment cases trigger retaliation.

What It Feels Like to Belong

A friend flew in from San Francisco last spring. As soon as we sat down to make plans, she said, “Let’s make sure we go to a restaurant that’s Black-owned.” And I didn’t need her to explain why. She was worried about her mental safety and wanted to support the black community.

That night, I felt something I rarely feel in public: at ease.

I didn’t scan the room or have to over smile to be hyper-approachable. I didn’t have the constant eyes on my every move. I just existed. And it made me wonder what it must be like to move through the world like that all the time? What must it be like to take belonging for granted?

That dinner reminded me what it felt like to be free of calculation and to treat my peace as a basic expectation.

When I choose to speak up, I remember what that dinner gave me: a glimpse of what it means to belong somewhere. I insist on living that way no matter where I go, but it’s not always possible. Still, when the space around me is not so welcoming, I have that memory to anchor me.

Collective Trauma and Cultural Voice

Being Black in America means always second-guessing yourself. I’m cautious when I drive and in public places. My American passport lists Cuba as the country of my birth, and now I have to worry about being detained in airports.

Even inside the gates of my upscale neighborhood, I’ve been questioned in the middle of a personal health emergency. As I was curled up on the floor in pain, their first assumption was that I had been using drugs.

Dr. Robert T. Carter calls this race-based traumatic stress. His research shows that the emotional toll of racism is a form of post-traumatic stress disorder. Targets of racial violence or hostility often develop symptoms that mirror the PTSD seen in war veterans: insomnia, panic, hypervigilance, isolation, and depression.

Unlike traditional trauma, this kind doesn’t require a single catastrophic event. The daily buildup of disrespect and danger is enough. That’s why it matters when we speak up.

Say It Anyway

Next time someone asks, “Do you belong here?”—whether with words or a look—listen to what rises in your body. Notice the tension and the instinct to slink down. Then ask yourself: What would it mean to stay present instead?

If you’re the one being questioned, you owe yourself steadiness. If you’re the one watching it happen, say something. Don’t wait for the perfect, safe moment.

Speak up now because you can, because someone once didn’t and it gave permission to aggressive, ignorant behavior..

That’s the moment I carry from the flight from the Cayman Islands. I should have said something, but I kept quiet, and that decision followed me off the plane.

Next time, no matter how afraid I might be, I’ll speak up anyway. I belong wherever I decide to be in that moment.

A Playlist to Find Your Voice

Best,

Nio

Joy and Gratitude Podcast

Self-Silencing and the Power of Pause: https://joyandgratitudepodcast.podbean.com/e/self-silencing-and-the-power-of-a-pause-episode-6-of-the-joy-and-gratitude-podcast/

Nio and Beth talk about the various impacts, both physical and emotional, of self silencing and conflict avoidance. Can we tune into our bodies and understand more about the fears that are holding us back? We explore how we can pause and use our voices to be true to ourselves and better support each other.

Let’s experiment in using the power of pause to start a conversation with yourself and try to choose new alternatives.