The Voice That Persists

Today I carried an uncomfortable feeling: an inner voice that doesn’t shout, but doesn’t leave. It doesn’t ask for attention; it demands it. The first thing my ego did was negotiate: “If I listen, what do I get?” And there I saw the trap. Sometimes the voice doesn’t arrive to offer anything — it arrives to remind you there’s something you don’t want to see.

It’s not easy to stay. My impulse was to rush to explanation, to build a frame, to name it. But this part asked for something simpler and harder: to remain. To listen without turning it into a project. To feel without narrating it. To let the dark have a seat, even a small one, at the table.

I noticed something else: when I try to silence that voice, it shows up in the body. It becomes tension, insomnia, an irritation with no object. But when I let it speak, the noise drops. Not because I understand everything, but because something in me feels seen.

Maybe the most honest practice is this: listen without promising. Don’t swear you’ll integrate it tomorrow. Don’t guarantee you’ll fix it. Just say, “I’m listening.” And repeat it as many times as needed.