How I Found My Inner Voice & Reclaimed My Story

*Warning: This piece contains mentions of suicide and may be triggering to some readers. Please proceed with caution if this topic is personal to you.

As I wrote this piece, I caught myself thinking of it as self-indulgent. But without someone else daring to share their story, mine would look very different. I would not have realized the story of my life had been shaped by everything but me.  

Abuse, abandonment, complex PTSD and society were the captains of my ship for years. They insisted that I live life with the least possible risk because I’d already lost so much. As a result, I pleased people and abandoned myself to avoid abandonment from others. 

My life would have continued that way had a global pandemic not brought my racing, anxious mind to a grinding halt. 

I started working in collections at 22.

After a difficult upbringing, I needed to get out of my parents’ home. They’d filed for bankruptcy and couldn’t cosign college loan applications, so higher education wasn’t an option. 

A collections job had rescued my mother from working second shift at a factory as she’d done most of my life. She suggested it as a bridge until I determined my next step. It turned into much more than that.

The day I came out of training, I sat behind the man I would marry. He gave me an escape route from my chaotic childhood home. I wasted no time taking it. We got married just over a year later.

For most of the next 18 years, my husband and I continued working together. 

I’d been raised on the value of hard work and applied for every promotion, but standing out from my more experienced husband was challenging. I did well despite this, but something was missing. When the firm we were with closed, I took the opportunity to assess what I really wanted. 

Years of changing companies, roles, and cities in search of happiness followed, but I hit roadblocks at every turn.

I was a year into a great job, a turning point in my career, when my brother called to tell me that our mother had taken her own life. Going back home and handling her arrangements were among the hardest things I’ve ever done. 

When I returned, I threw myself into work. This was great for my career and the company, but not great for my health. I was diagnosed with Graves’ disease, an autoimmune disorder that can wreak havoc on the body. Observational studies show a correlation between PTSD and auto-immune disorder diagnoses. While causation has not yet been established, it definitely felt like my past catching up to me. 

I began treatment immediately, but my anxiety was still at an all-time high. Just as I was starting to burn out at work, a recruiter reached out to me with an opportunity that I could not refuse. Even if it meant moving to Houston, Texas.

Finally, my husband and I would be working at different companies. 

I was looking forward to being seen as an individual and making my own network of friends. I’d finally get to make an impression all on my own.

That may well have happened, but I moved in March of 2020.

Soon, my husband and I were both working from home. I was devastated and lonely, and I blamed Houston. When my company went permanently remote, I took the opportunity to move back to Tampa. I was happy again for about a year before this nagging feeling of unrest suffocated me. 

This time, instead of making a huge change in my life, I got curious.

I enlisted the help of a mental health counselor. I worked through some past trauma. I processed my mom’s death for the first time. I felt better, but still, the nagging was relentless. I added a meditation practice. The first week, I sobbed every time. The next week, I didn’t. I learned to quiet my busy mind and enjoy the rest, the silence. Then, a voice emerged. It said three words:

“I am gay.”

Day after day I heard these three words until I couldn’t ignore them. I started to dissect it myself, then with my counselor, until I knew. That voice was my own, a voice I’d only heard a few times in my life. And it was right.

I began to painstakingly pick apart the stories that had been written for me my entire life.

I saw for the first time why I’d done the things I had, and why they hadn’t made me happy.

I couldn't go to college like I’d wanted, so I followed my mother into the collections industry, knowing she was proud of her job there. My marriage provided me with what seemed like the best option as a young adult without a degree. Working with my husband made it difficult for me to define myself as an individual. I kept running, from job to job and city to city, searching for a story that fit me, until I finally slowed down enough to listen to myself. 

Today, I can stand in my own story because I wrote it.

I began approaching my career with authenticity. I created my own definition of success. Now decision making is easier, life is way less stressful, and I show up better in everything I do. 

I've also rekindled my joy for things I used to love. I started playing softball and bowling again. I've given more attention to my many hobbies in the last year than I have in a very long time. I'm finding a new community where I finally feel like I fit in.

This morning, as I got ready for work in the home I share with my girlfriend, I looked around and thought, I’ve created this. This is what I always wanted. 

From this vantage point, I’ll tell anyone who will listen that it’s worth it. It’s worth the unraveling and discomfort and starting over. Don’t wait for a personal tragedy or a global pandemic to take stock of your life and find out who you really are. 

Write your story before somebody else does. Then, share it.

Hear more stories like Kelly's when you join us for WCF 2025 in Fort Worth, Texas from November 10-12.