Finding Your Voice: Breaking the Silence and Moving Forward

When I first disclosed my abuse at age 10, it wasn’t to my mother, father, or a trusted adult—it was to a priest during confession. I asked him to stop my brother, to make the abuse end. His response was, ‘That’s bad, you stop it’. He sent me away to say my prayers for my sins and to stop my brother myself. I left that confessional feeling more alone than ever, the weight of responsibility placed on my small shoulders. Eventually, I stopped my brother by avoiding him as much as possible, but the silence became my closest companion.

That silence continued for years, even after I successfully disclosed my abuse to my husband in my twenties. The relief I felt in telling him the truth didn’t erase the years of emotional numbness I had used to cope. I was measured in what I shared about the abuse. I wasn’t sure of what might happen if I started speaking more, so I shared small amounts of memories. Disclosing successfully didn’t mean it immediately restored the ‘free, pre-abuse years’ voice I had lost as a child. Not great, too, that my next disclosure after telling my husband was met with denial, being told I was lying… which burned and confused me so much.

But my resolve stayed with me. The same resolve I mustered up to go and tell the priest at 10, risking the guilt of “going to hell” for speaking about it. That resolve not to let something that felt so wrong continue just because others around me didn’t see or closed their eyes and ears—resolve has stayed with me throughout my life.

As I shared in last week’s blog, that is why my memoir was called Resolve—because it wasn’t just about telling my story but about the refusal to accept things that others felt were acceptable, the refusal to play small, the determination to be a voice, even when it meant battling that ingrained fear of making a scene. I still don’t yell. I’ve come to understand that there’s always a part of us we are working on, piecing together to understand and ultimately see that it connects to the abuse. Not liking to raise my voice isn’t just a personality quirk—it’s a legacy of silence I’ve carried since childhood.

As Mike Lew writes in Victims No Longer: “The taboo against talking about incest is stronger than the taboo against doing it.”

This resonated deeply with me and I’m sure it will with so many survivors. We’re trained from a young age to stay silent about our trauma, conditioned by fear, secrecy, and the belief that no one will believe us or want to hear our story. But in reality, breaking that silence is one of the most powerful steps we can take toward healing.

Lew describes a phenomenon he calls “The Voice,” where survivors often speak in soft, measured tones, avoiding expressing anger or emotion that might make others uncomfortable. I know this voice well—I’ve lived it. Many survivors, like me, were conditioned to calm ourselves and others, keeping everything tightly controlled so as not to rock the boat. But healing requires that we begin reclaiming our true voice and speaking up with power and emotion, even if it initially feels uncomfortable or terrifying.

As Steven Levenkron, a leading psychotherapist, writes:
“When you begin to talk about the abuse, it is important not to simply report it without emotion, which you may want to do to separate the words from your feelings. You have to hear yourself say it, feel yourself say it. That will change you: you will have proclaimed who you are. You will no longer be in hiding, disguised and trapped behind a false façade that keeps shame alive.”

The first time I shared my story with my husband, my voice was steady, but my heart was racing; I could hear and feel it loudly in my ears! I worried that by speaking about the abuse, I would somehow make it worse, that I’d hurt him, or that I’d lose control of my emotions. But his response—his belief in me—was something I held onto, knowing one day I would come across others who would respond as he did. It wasn’t easy that my next disclosure to Mum shattered my trust in her and shocked me that no love or kindness was coming my way. My dad managed it better, quietly, but I felt his support.

It wasn’t until I was in my 40s that I began to reclaim a part of myself that had been lost to the trauma. I began to understand that finding my voice and speaking my truth was an act of power. Speaking of it with an alternative therapist, let in the light, she didn’t judge me. I spoke again to a hypnotherapist with no judgment, just kindness and support. I told my three daughters when they were ready to know the basics and later whatever else they wanted to understand. All of that led me to my mission to become a voice in the silent landscape of sibling sexual abuse. I speak about this mission in Resolve and a deep realisation I had about the priorities surrounding that – no spoiler here!

Lew reminds us that breaking the silence isn’t just about saying the words—it’s about reclaiming our emotions, too. It’s about attaching feelings to our words, allowing ourselves to cry, shake, rage, and laugh. It’s about standing in our truth unapologetically, even if it is messy and painful.

The long path of writing Resolve had me go through so many emotions and express them. Before I began writing, I went through a process of daily journalling prompts to shake all my thoughts onto paper about the intention of my book. It became a ritual I valued greatly. The practice showed me things like my desire to be conscious of who my readers were, not to overshare, and what story was mine to share and what was not. I didn’t share anything of my other siblings’ lives is one example of what came from that exercise over many months. On some of those pages, I raged and was bitter before I healed, evolved, and could look at the past and see it from a fresh perspective.

So no, I still don’t yell. I have been conscious since reading Mike’s book to practice speaking louder—giving it a try. The people I’m surrounded by don’t yell, gossip, or judge, either. I haven’t connected with people who think sarcasm is humour for half a decade. I have a kind and loving small circle of good people around me.

Still careful to honour what I told young me over the past five years: you are safe now. I acknowledge that she and I are my priority. My healing journey was intense because I chose to write. I threw myself into it fully and openly, and I feel empowered and peaceful. I know there is more to address as the time feels right. That’s enough for me for now.

A Journaling Exercise to Help Break the Silence

To help you reclaim your voice and begin this journey of breaking the silence, I encourage you to try this journaling exercise. It’s a process that I found helpful in my own recovery, and it can guide you through the steps of speaking out and feeling the power of your voice:

Reflect on Who You Want to Tell
Write down the names of people you might consider sharing your story with. These could be close friends, a therapist, a support group, or even a stranger. Begin by journalling about how you feel about telling each person. What fears or hopes arise when you think of sharing your story with them?
Write Your Story
In your journal, write out your story—what happened to you, how it made you feel, and how it’s affected your life. Don’t worry about getting it perfect; focus on expressing your truth.
Practice Speaking Your Story
[Noting this is something I didn’t do and wished I had. The first time I read my story out loud was at the recording studio for the audiobook. That was not smart of me to leave it until then. I wished I had read it out loud sooner. If you buy Resolve in audio, you’re among the only people who know that. It was daunting to know it would be released to the public!] When you’re ready, read what you wrote out loud. If you feel safe, try raising your voice while you speak. Notice how it feels to hear yourself say the words. Is there any part of the story that feels too difficult to express? I promise you there will be. I cried and shook and lost my voice a lot in the recording studio, thankful for the kind studio manager, dishing out hugs, tissues and breaks. You can repeat this step as often as needed, allowing more of your voice to emerge each time.
Journal About the Experience
After practising, take some time to reflect on how it felt to speak your story out loud. Did you feel relief, fear, or empowerment? Write down your thoughts and feelings. This can help release any lingering emotions that may have surfaced.
Set a Goal to Tell Someone
Choose one person from your list and make a plan to share part of your story with them. You don’t have to tell everything—just what feels comfortable for now. Afterwards, journal about the experience. How did it feel to speak up? How did the person respond? What did you learn about yourself?

Conclusion: Reclaiming Your Voice and Your Power

Finding your voice as a survivor is not a one-time event—it’s a continuous process of breaking the silence, reclaiming your truth, and standing in your power. Each time you tell your story, you take back a piece of yourself that was lost to the trauma. And you strengthen your voice, confidence, and ability to heal each time. Now that Resolve has been released for a year, I can have a comfortable conversation about the abuse. I listen deeply and am conscious of boundaries. Whether I choose to share is up to me. It’s always okay to say ‘I won’t answer that, I’m sure you’ll understand.’

I know firsthand that this process isn’t easy. It took me years of trial and error, trusting and being hurt, silence, and finally speaking out. But I also know that every step forward is a victory, no matter how small. Breaking the silence doesn’t mean the journey is over—it means it’s just beginning.

As you progress, I encourage you to remember that you are not alone. There are people who will listen, believe you, and support you. Your voice matters, and your story deserves to be heard. Keep speaking, writing, and trusting that you are reclaiming your life, strength, and power with every word.

Check out the Need Support page on my website for some support services.

Take care of yourself,

Alice

Until now, Resolve has mostly been sold via online outlets like Amazon. However, this week, I got an email from Dymocks saying that they have copies of Resolve on their city store’s shelf. Dymocks Queen Street Mall Store, Brisbane, to be exact! I’m heading down next week for a photo and to sign the copies so they will be ‘signed by the author’. If you are nowhere near Brisbane and would like Resolve ordered into your local bookstore, no matter where you are in the world, you can ask them to order it through IngramSpark, my distributor.