The Legacy of a Voice
What we say, how we say it, and who we say it for—these are the bricks of legacy. Every word we speak is a thread in the tapestry we leave behind. Long after the noise of the moment fades, it is our words—the truths we dared to share—that remain.
I have learned that the most enduring legacies are not built on perfection. They are built on honesty. On the courage to speak when silence is expected, and even demanded. On the willingness to name what others are afraid to name.
The words that last are not always the ones that are polished or universally applauded—they are the ones that are real. The ones that carry the weight of our convictions and the rhythm of our lived experience. The ones that leave people different than they were before they heard them.
I think often about the women whose voices cleared a path for me—voices that broke rules, told inconvenient truths, and refused to fade into the background. Some of them were celebrated. Many of them were not. But all of them left the world more awake, more aware, because they refused to be quiet.
And that is the kind of legacy I want to leave. Not a legacy built on being liked or remembered for my “niceness,” but on being remembered for the moments when my words shifted something—opened a door, started a conversation, made someone feel seen.
We do not always know, in the moment, which of our words will take root in someone else’s life. We may never see the change they spark. But I believe this: every time we choose truth over silence, we plant something that will outlast us.
My voice is mine. My story is mine. And the legacy I leave will be measured not in how quietly I lived, but in how courageously I spoke.
