The Words Were Always Mine
The Words Were Always Mine
Learning to Hear My Own Voice Again
There are moments in life when someone says something to you and you suddenly stop.
You think:
“That's exactly what I've been trying to say.”
That happened to me recently.
I've been having these conversations about my life, my emotions, my relationships, my daughter, my creativity, my businesses, my music, my past and the woman I'm becoming.
And sometimes, after sharing everything that is swirling around inside me, I receive words that seem to speak directly to my soul.
But I've realized something.
The words aren't really coming from somewhere outside of me.
They're helping me hear what has already been inside me.
Maybe I Didn't Need More Answers
For a long time, I thought I needed answers.
I wanted to understand why I reacted the way I did.
Why certain people affected me.
Why I felt trapped.
Why I wanted freedom.
Why I missed the woman I used to be.
Why I wanted to be quiet one day and expressive the next.
Why I wanted minimalism and slow living, but also wanted music, beauty, glamour, creativity and fun.
I kept looking for the right explanation.
But maybe I wasn't missing answers.
Maybe I was missing space to hear myself.
Sometimes we are surrounded by so much noise—people, responsibilities, expectations, relationships, social media, work, family, opinions—that our own voice becomes difficult to hear.
And when someone gives us a quiet mirror, suddenly we recognize ourselves again.
I Am Learning to Recognize My Own Voice
Something has changed in me.
I don't need someone to tell me what I feel.
I can feel it.
I don't need someone to tell me when something isn't aligned.
I notice it.
I don't need someone to tell me when I need space.
My body tells me.
I don't need someone to tell me when something brings me joy.
I light up.
And I don't need someone to tell me when I've crossed my own boundary.
I know.
This is a different kind of confidence.
Not the confidence of knowing everything.
The confidence of knowing myself.
The Mirror
Perhaps that's what the right conversations do.
They don't give you a new identity.
They hold up a mirror.
And suddenly you see:
Oh.
There I am.
The woman who wants peace.
The woman who loves beauty.
The woman who wants freedom.
The woman who creates music.
The woman who writes.
The woman who loves being a mother.
The woman who wants to build something meaningful.
The woman who wants to laugh again.
The woman who loves her quiet home.
The woman who still remembers Hollywood.
The woman who once walked around with that wide-eyed feeling of:
“What is happening?!”
The woman who became more cautious over the years.
The woman who built walls to protect herself.
The woman who is now learning that she can have gates instead.
Not walls.
Gates.
She decides what comes in.
She decides what leaves.
And she doesn't have to close herself completely to remain safe.
I Don't Want to Lose My Magic Again
I've been thinking about my younger self lately.
The woman who could walk through Hollywood and somehow find herself in extraordinary situations.
Auditions.
Interviews.
Unexpected encounters.
People inviting her places.
Meeting interesting people.
Laughing.
Exploring.
Being curious.
Being completely new to North America and somehow finding herself in the middle of experiences that felt almost cinematic.
I thought perhaps I had lost that magic.
Maybe I became older.
Maybe I became cynical.
Maybe my world became too small.
Maybe I became too serious.
But now I think something else happened.
I became protected.
And protection served me for a while.
But now I don't want protection to become a prison.
I want to be discerning without becoming closed.
Wise without becoming cynical.
Private without becoming invisible.
Boundaried without becoming hard.
And playful without becoming careless.
I Don't Need to Become the Old Me
I don't want to go backward.
I don't want to become the exact woman I was in 2011.
She didn't have the wisdom I have now.
She didn't know what I know now.
She hadn't experienced everything I have experienced.
She was innocent.
Open.
Curious.
And wonderfully clueless sometimes.
😂
But I don't want to lose her either.
So perhaps the answer isn't going backward.
It's bringing her forward.
Taking her curiosity.
Her laughter.
Her openness.
Her imagination.
Her willingness to say yes to life.
And combining those qualities with the wisdom I've earned.
That is the woman I want to become.
I Don't Have to Choose
For a while, I thought I had to choose.
Slow living or expression.
Minimalism or glamour.
Privacy or visibility.
Home or adventure.
Peace or excitement.
Motherhood or individuality.
Professionalism or play.
But I don't think those things are opposites anymore.
I can have a quiet morning and make a wild song in the afternoon.
I can love minimalism and still appreciate beautiful things.
I can protect my privacy and still tell meaningful stories.
I can be feminine and powerful.
I can be serious about my work and completely ridiculous about life.
I can stay home and still have a big imagination.
I can have boundaries and still have an open heart.
I can be all of me.
Maybe This Is What Coming Back to Life Means
Coming back to life isn't necessarily becoming louder.
Sometimes it's becoming more honest.
It's noticing what makes you laugh.
What makes you curious.
What makes you create.
What makes you feel beautiful.
What makes you feel free.
What makes you feel peaceful.
What makes you want to get out of bed in the morning.
And then slowly building a life around those things.
That's what I'm doing now.
I'm writing.
I'm making music.
I'm building.
I'm creating.
I'm parenting.
I'm resting.
I'm laughing.
I'm exploring.
I'm learning.
I'm simplifying.
I'm becoming more intentional.
And I'm allowing myself to be seen—not because I need attention, but because expression is part of who I am.
Maybe My Platform Is Not About Broadcasting My Life
I've been wondering whether I should return to making videos and having a platform again.
Everyone seems to broadcast their lives now.
But maybe that's not what I want.
I don't want to simply broadcast.
I want to express.
I want to take something I've lived and find the meaning inside it.
I want to turn experiences into stories.
Turn stories into music.
Turn emotions into art.
Turn lessons into something another woman might recognize in herself.
Maybe that is my platform.
Not:
“Look at me.”
But:
“Come sit with me. I discovered something.”
And maybe someone else will say:
“Me too.”
The Words Were Always Mine
So when someone says something that speaks directly to my soul, perhaps I don't need to think:
“How did they know?”
Maybe the answer is:
Because I already knew.
The words were somewhere inside me.
The experience was mine.
The feeling was mine.
The wisdom was mine.
The question was mine.
The answer was slowly becoming mine.
Someone simply held up the mirror.
And I recognized myself.
That may be one of the greatest gifts of this chapter:
I am learning to trust the woman in the mirror.
She doesn't know everything.
She doesn't always get it right.
She still gets angry.
She still gets tired.
She still gets confused.
She still has days when she wants to hide.
She still has days when she wants to dance.
She still has days when she wants to delete everything and disappear into her bedroom.
😂
But she's listening now.
And I'm listening to her.
I Am Coming Back
I don't need to find myself anymore.
I am here.
I don't need to become someone else.
I am becoming more fully myself.
I don't need to recover the magic of the past.
I can create new magic.
I don't need to choose between quiet and expression.
I can have both.
I don't need to choose between being protected and being open.
I can have gates.
I don't need to escape my life.
I can create a life that feels like freedom.
And I don't need someone else to define my story.
I can tell it myself.
Perhaps that is what this entire chapter has been teaching me.
The words were always mine.
The magic was always mine.
The voice was always mine.
The woman was always here.
I just needed enough quiet to finally hear her.
And now that I can hear her...
I'm listening.
— Julie
This Is the Chapter Where I Come Back to Life.
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