Finding My Voice at the Table

In honor of International Women’s Day, March 2026, I recently revisited a quote by Shirley Chisholm, the first Black woman elected to the United States Congress:

“If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.”

As both a counselor and a musician, this quote resonates with me on a deeply personal level. For much of my life, I felt as though I had arrived late to the table, both literally and figuratively, only to discover that all the seats were already taken. It took me far longer than I would have liked to cultivate the self-worth, confidence, and compassion necessary to believe in myself as an artist and to claim a place for my creative voice.

For many years I did not invest the time I needed to develop my craft. The truth is simple and painful: I didn’t believe in myself. Yet there was always a quiet but persistent inner voice reminding me that I needed to write, create, and sing. That voice never left me alone.

Like many artists, I compared myself constantly to others, those I believed were more talented, more gifted, more extraordinary. I listened as people praised musicians they admired and felt the sharp sting of comparison. Somewhere along the way I adopted an all-or-nothing mindset: if I could not be the best, perhaps I should not do it at all.

Still, the inner call to create refused to disappear. I began to understand something important about the artistic life: when you suppress creativity, the suffering moves inward. Eventually I made a quiet but pivotal decision, if I was going to suffer, I might as well suffer externally by putting my work into the world rather than carrying the ache of silence within.

For a long time I believed my value as an artist rested in other people’s hands. I feared they would think I was delusional for believing I had any talent at all. It took years for me to realize that others do not hold the authority to define our gifts. That authority belongs to the person who is willing to show up and create.

Now I face a different voice of doubt: the cultural narrative about age. American culture is deeply preoccupied with youth. After asking what you do, one of the most common questions people ask, sometimes boldly, is, “How old are you?” Age becomes part of an unspoken internal assessment.

As a therapist once shared with me, “People’s judgments of us are their way of introducing us to their insecurities.” That insight has stayed with me. It reminds me that external evaluations often reveal more about the evaluator than the person being evaluated.

Even so, I suspect that artists are rarely free of the thorn that pushes them to create. Perhaps that thorn is part of the calling.

Amelia Earhart once wrote: "The most difficult thing is the decision to act; the rest is merely tenacity.”

For me, it truly came down to a decision, a simple but powerful commitment to write an album despite my fears. Strangely enough, once I made that decision, I experienced a sense of peace. The persistent inner voice that had been calling me to create finally had a path forward.

And when I began, I discovered something beautiful: my inner artist possessed resilience, depth, and an unexpected capacity for healing.

Alice Walker wrote: "The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.”

For years I unknowingly surrendered my power through my own self-imposed limitations.

Then something unexpected happened. I had prayed that God might open a door, and He did, through my father.

For much of my life I wasn’t entirely sure what my father thought of my musical abilities. Yet he quietly encouraged me in ways I only fully recognized later. He would send me videos and interviews of great songwriters. When I visited my parents’ lake house, he often asked me to sing and play.

After he passed away, I discovered that he had been sharing my CDs with others and had even sent one of my songs to a radio station, which ended up playing it. He had also been the one to tell me about Donna Ulisse’s songwriting retreats. When he called to encourage me to attend, he even sent a little money along “to take the pain out of it in case it was a bomb.” That was his sense of humor.

After I returned from the retreat, he loved the song that came out of it. When we went to the lake house after his passing, the song was open on his computer. He had been learning it.

My father was a wonderful singer. He sang with complete freedom and without fear. I used to think I could never possess that kind of confidence. When I sang, I often felt intimidated. I believed performers had to be “star quality”, beautiful, thin, dazzling entertainers who knew exactly how to command an audience.

That never felt natural to me. Perhaps it’s my stubborn streak, but I never wanted to impress people with appearance or performance tricks. My desire has always been simpler and deeper: to create music that touches the soul. Music that reaches into the quiet places of the human heart.

I admire artists who captivate audiences with performance and charisma. It’s simply not the path that feels authentic to me.

Instead, I find myself on a kind of pilgrimage, an ongoing journey into the depths of creativity.

As a counselor, I have witnessed how profoundly music can heal. Throughout my life, certain songs have brought immense comfort and restoration to my heart. One that continues to move me is “The Sound of Silence” by Simon & Garfunkel. That song transports me across time and into a space where sound itself becomes a refuge.

My hope and prayer is that my music might someday offer others that same sense of comfort, reminding them that they are not alone, that words and melody can carry hope, understanding, and healing.

Now that I have finally found my voice, another quote resonates deeply with me. Madeleine Albright once said:

“It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent.”

I feel the same.

So in the spirit of Shirley Chisholm’s wisdom, I am bringing my folding chair.

And I am sitting down at the table.

Happy International Women’s Day. 🌿🎶