You Tried to Silence Me. I Got Louder.

This episode exists because my voice was questioned—and my work was removed.

Let me be clear:
These songs are mine.

My poetry is mine.
My books are mine.
My music is mine.

They come from my lived experience. They come from what I survived. And I do not need permission from any platform to tell my own story.

When my work was labeled as something other than my own, that was not just an error—it was a dismissal of my authorship and an attempt to silence my voice.

I will not accept that.

I will not argue for my right to exist as the artist of my own story.
I will not shrink my voice to fit inside systems that fail to recognize it.

So I am doing what I have always done: I am speaking. I am creating. I am releasing my work anyway.

Featuring:

Betrayal at 11 Years Old

Storm Rages Inside

Sacred Dance

and additional pieces centered on voice, boundaries, and reclamation

This is not just an episode.
This is a line being drawn.

You do not get to decide what is mine.
You do not get to silence me.

You tried to silence me.
I got louder.

Transcript

SPEAKER_02 0:13

You sit in that chair talking about my service. Like you were there. Like you watched the years unfold, like you stood in the hallways where silence gets heavy. But you weren't there. You weren't there in A school when the night split open. Something sacred was taken. You weren't there when the aftermath started. Because the truth is the assault was only the first storm. What came after was its own war. You weren't there when the whispers started. The questions that never ask about the man. Only the woman. What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Are you sure? You weren't there when blame crawled in and tried to make a home inside my chest. You weren't there when retaliation came. When truth became inconvenient. When the body tried to release a pain too heavy to carry alone. You weren't there. And now, now you sit in a chair calling yourself a man, telling a survivor what she should do with her own body. A man stands up when women are harmed. A man does not protect rapists with silence or excuses. A man does not tell a survivor she must carry a rapist's crime. A man understands that healing belongs to the person who was harmed. Are you gonna hold her when the nightmares come? Are you gonna pay for the therapy year after year after year? Are you gonna fight to make sure she chooses her own path to healing? Or are you just another voice in a comfortable chair, telling a survivor what her body owes the world? Because if you weren't there for the violence, the aftermath, the years of rebuilding, and you don't get to speak for my body. You don't get to speak for my healing, and you sure as hell don't get to rewrite my service. Because the truth is simple. Through the darkness, I come home to stay. To my body and self, I return at last. A journey of healing, a journey so vast, I wandered far and wide, lost and alone, searching for something I could never own. But now I see the truth is clear. I must come home, face my fears. Betrayed at eleven, but I'm breaking free. With every heartbeat I reclaim me. The blue heron soars in the sky. So I I'm finding my peace. Writing my story, I'll speak my truth. Feel to heal through the chaos. I roam. I'm building a life, I'm finally home. I remember the scent of rain on warm ground, the taste of sweet freedom when the sun came around. My heart was a battlefield, scars deep in my soul. With every word written, I'm learning to be whole. The hand pen whisper soft with a gentle embrace. Notes dancing the air, creating sacred space, chiron's gone, calls out, healing my heart, a melody of strength, finding a light in the dark, betrayed at eleven, but I'm breaking free. With every heartbeat I reclaim The blue heaven soars in the sky so wide I'm fighting my key. It's my time to rise, finding my story, I'll speak my truth.

SPEAKER_00 6:34

I'll find my boot Feel to heal through the chaos until today the life of finally hold I feel the ball for eye of the journey. That's let's be back.

SPEAKER_02 9:24

Tears streaming down my face, heart heavy with sorrow. I was victim at ages eleven, nineteen, twenty-three, and twenty-five. Six men took what was not offered, not consented to. They raped me. They raped me, they tried to destroy me. Now I am a survivor, a fighter, a warrior, a champion, and all rape, a violation of my body and soul, leaving me broken, shattered, and alone, emotionally abused, manipulated and controlled. I was a puppet in the hands of a cruel society, an institution that seems to like rape and rapist. Retaliated against for speaking my truth, for daring to define my oppressors, to stand up for myself. Victim blame, shame for a man deciding to take what I did not consent to. Told it was my fault, as if he has no blame for what he did to me. The weight of grief crushes me, suffocates me. I carry it like a burden across to bear, but I refuse to be silenced, to be silenced by shame. I did nothing wrong. I will rise from the ashes strong and fierce. I will not allow a society and government. Tell me what I do with my body. I will not listen to politicians who cannot be bothered to listen to survivors. I will not listen to politicians who cannot read a survivor's book. I do not give a damn about what politicians say, since they only support rape, human trafficking. I am standing in my power, I am taking my body back. I am reclaiming every part of me. I am telling what they did to me. Rape is not some gift from God, like politicians say, Women are not born to be abused, but women are not born to be observed, women are not born to be raped. I am standing in my power, I am telling my truth, I am telling what happened to me, I am reclaiming every part of myself. I am breaking the chains, for I am a phoenix rising from the ashes, a force to be reckoned with, a fierce honey badger, and powerful spirit.

SPEAKER_00 13:08

I will not be silenced, I will not be defeated, I am a survivor, I am a fighter, I am I am I am a girl, my girl, my girls. Where spirit and movement embrace, a sacred dance takes flight, bathing souls and celestial light, bodies sway with divine fire, dancer like flames rise higher with every step of prayer unfold as the story of the cosmos unfold in each food of the divine elevating heart, transcending time, the twirls fins a sacred dress, weaving a tapestry of positive Harmony in the flicker of toast, as sacred music ends and flows, expressions of love, both fused and mild, unveiling the secret of the wild.

SPEAKER_02 16:29

And so the unison begins to sway The celebration of life, a dance divine, guided by forces beyond space and time. So let us join stay with the longest blend at one Through dance. We touched the theory and glimpsed the beauty that is the fluid motion, whispers of the divine, elevating hearts, transcending time, the twelve spins, sacred strength, we think of a stream of cards death, harmony in the flicker of toast, as sacred music as inflows, expressions of love, both fierce and mild, unveiling the secrets of the wild. In the sacred space, masks fall away, and souls in unison begins to sway.

SPEAKER_01 18:30

A celebration of love, it masks all the way to me with sun, if you need to sway a celebration, you don't get to think. An intrusion. Between kindness and entitlement, between respect and the way some people think they own the world. So listen carefully. You don't reach towards me. You don't step into my space. You don't cross a line and expect me to smile about it. No. Because the woman standing here now is not the woman who stays silent. She learned something. No. It's a complete sentence. Distance. It's a boundary. And peace. It's not something I negotiate anymore. This is my space.

SPEAKER_02 28:56

And for a moment, I thought about calling my therapist. Three sessions. That's all we've had. Three hours in a life that has carried decades. And halfway through the thought, something inside me said, wait, why are you reaching outside when the answers have always lived inside your own body? A therapist isn't coming to rescue me. No one ever did. Not when I was eleven, not when the world split open and my voice got buried under disbelief and silence. No one sat down and said, Tell me what happened. Tell me the truth, I will stay. So somewhere along the way, my nervous system learned something. If no one is coming, then I must. I must sit with myself, I must breathe when the memories start rising. I must let the tears fall instead of locking them behind my ribs. I must allow the shaking, the trembling, the waves of grief to move through the body that carried me this far. Because the truth is, therapists are human too. They have their own stories, their own long days, their own limits. And I cannot expect another human being to carry a pain that the world has refused to hold since I was a child. So today, instead of dialing, I close my eyes, I breathed slow deep again. I let the tears come without apologizing for them. I let the body soften instead of fighting the storm, and in the quiet after the crying, after the shaking, after the breath slowed down, I heard something. Not a voice from outside, something older, something steadier, my own. The part of me that survived, the part that refused to disappear, the part that kept walking through fire, through betrayal, through rooms where no one listened, that part said, You are still here. You always were, and maybe that is the real miracle. Not rescue, not someone saving me. But the moment a woman realizes she has been carrying her own life the entire time I am not waiting anymore. I am breathing, I am crying, I am listening inward. I am the one who stayed. I am the one who survived. I am the one who brings myself back home.