Hey Reader!

I was staring at my laptop screen, that familiar tightness building in my chest. It had been almost two weeks since my last article. The cursor blinked accusingly. I had nothing. Or rather, I had a hundred half-formed ideas that all felt like work instead of play, obligation instead of desire.

My brain offered helpful suggestions: "Just pick something and write it. You're losing momentum. People will forget about you. It's been too long."

I know that voice intimately. It has been my lifelong companion, my supposed guide, the thing I thought was keeping me on track. It speaks with such authority, such certainty. It sounds like wisdom.

But recently, I realized something that changed everything: I've been taking directions from my trauma, not my inspiration.

The Voice I'd Been Trusting

For sixty-one years, I've been following the urgent voice. The one that says:

"It's been two weeks, you should post something."

"You're missing the boat."

"You're too old. It's too late for you."

"You don't have anything original to say."

"You only have 139 followers. Nobody is listening."

"If you want to make an impact, you've got to get serious and post every day, hire someone, build a system."

This voice has a particular quality. It's commanding. Certain. It creates immediate anxiety and then offers the solution: Do more. Try harder. Don't stop. You're falling behind.

I thought this was ambition. Drive. The part of me that refused to settle for mediocrity.

But it wasn't. It was the voice of a child who grew up with a narcissistic mother, whose very existence required external validation to feel real. It was trauma masquerading as motivation.

The Voice I'd Been Ignoring

Meanwhile, there was another voice. Quieter. Tentative. Easy to miss if you're moving too fast or trying too hard.

It sounds like this:

"I wonder what would happen if..."

"This might be fun."

"Ooh, that looks interesting."

This voice doesn't command. It invites. It tingles in my solar plexus. It feels light, curious, even playful. When it gets some fuel to work with, it can become buzzing, energizing, alive.

But here's the problem: inspiration is timid compared to trauma. Trauma speaks with certainty and urgency. It hijacks your nervous system with cortisol and adrenaline. Inspiration whispers. It suggests. It waits to see if you're interested.

And if you're too busy, too distracted, too focused on what you "should" be doing, you'll miss it entirely.

​Read the full article here​

This distinction between trauma and inspiration is something I'm still learning to recognize in real time. The trauma voice will probably never fully go away. But I'm learning I don't have to fix it - I just have to stop letting it drive the bus.

Does this resonate with you? Do you recognize these two voices in your own life? I'd love to hear what comes up for you.

Hit reply and let me know!

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Best,
Pamela~

P.S. If this resonated, feel free to forward it to someone who might need to hear it.

P.P.S. If you enjoy these emails, you can buy me a coffee if you'd like. :)

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