Finding My Voice in the Room
Finding Strength in the Unseen: A Journey Through Child Advocacy and Personal Resilience
There are moments in this work that I will never forget.
I can still see the way a caregiver's hands shake as they try so hard to hold everything together. The way their voice changes when they finally say what they have been carrying alone for far too long. The pause before they speak-not because they do not know what to say, but because they are not used to being the one who is truly listened to.
And then, sometimes, there is a moment of stillness.
Not because everything is fixed.
But because, for the first time, they are no longer facing it alone.
Those moments have shaped me more than anything else.
Before I ever stepped into this field
Before I ever stepped into this field, I spent five years in cosmetology. I did not realize it then, but I was learning how to see people in a way that mattered-how to notice the small things no one says out loud, and how to create a space where someone could exhale, even if only for a little while.
Those early lessons became the foundation of the work I do today.
About four years ago, I transitioned into child advocacy, carrying something deeply personal with me.
I had been a kinship caregiver.
I know what it feels like to love a child and suddenly find yourself trying to navigate systems that were never explained to you. I know what it feels like to sit in the middle of a crisis and still be expected to figure everything out-to keep going, to stay strong-even when you are quietly overwhelmed.
There were days I did not feel strong.
But I showed up anyway.
The work I do today
Today, I serve as the Child and Family Services Program Manager and Multidisciplinary Team (MDT) Facilitator at the Guernsey County Children's Advocacy Center. I oversee all case management operations and personally manage every case that comes through our CAC. I walk alongside families through some of the hardest moments of their lives, making sure they are not simply processed through a system but genuinely supported throughout it.
I also facilitate monthly MDT case review meetings, where law enforcement, child protective services, prosecutors, medical providers, and mental health professionals come together.
In those rooms, I carry a responsibility that is bigger than me.
- I am there to make sure the child is not lost in the process.
- To make sure their story is handled with care.
- To make sure every decision is made with their best interests in mind.
But what matters most to me is not the structure of the work.
- It is the humanity within it.
- It is the caregiver who finally feels understood.
- It is the family that no longer has to carry the weight of everything alone.
- It is the quiet relief that settles over a room when someone realizes they are being helped-not judged.
Rebuilding the Child and Family Services program
One of the most meaningful accomplishments of my career has been rebuilding the Child and Family Services program at my current organization. I did not approach it as a systems project. I approached it as something deeply personal because I had once been the caregiver sitting in that chair, trying to figure out what came next.
I have seen the realities of rural Appalachian Ohio.
- Families who want to do the right thing but are limited by distance.
- By transportation they do not have.
- By services that are too far away.
- By waitlists that stretch longer than their ability to hold on.
I have seen what it looks like when a family is not failing-the system is.
And I could not ignore it.
So I rebuilt the intake process with those realities in mind.
I made it more than paperwork.
I made it a place that listens for the things that never get said. A place that gently but intentionally asks, "What might stand in your way?" and then stays long enough to help remove those barriers.
Because I have learned that the difference between a family receiving help and a family falling through the cracks is often not effort.
- It is access.
- It is timing.
- It is whether someone takes the time to make the path just a little less heavy.
The moment I work for
There is a moment I have come to recognize, and it stays with me every time.
It is the moment a caregiver realizes they do not have to do this alone anymore.
- You can see it in the way their shoulders relax.
- You can hear it in the way their voice softens.
- You can feel it in the room.
That is the moment I work for.
My own journey has not been easy
At the same time, my own journey has not been easy.
Being young but experienced has often meant fighting for my place in rooms where I already belonged. There have been moments when I walked into a space and felt it immediately-the unspoken assumptions, the hesitation before my voice was heard, the need to prove myself not once, but repeatedly, before I was taken seriously.
There is a quiet weight to that experience.
- Because you are not just trying to do the work.
- You are trying to be believed while you are doing it.
I have had to learn how to hold my ground without becoming hardened. How to speak with confidence even while being underestimated. How to continue showing up with clarity and purpose, even when I was not yet fully seen.
Over time, something changed.
The same rooms that once questioned me began to listen.
Not because I became louder.
But because I became steady.
Dare to Lead
I often think about Brené Brown's work, especially Dare to Lead. That book truly changed my life. It gave language to things I had long felt but could not fully explain. It taught me that vulnerability is not weakness, and that courage is not about fearless perfection. It is about showing up even when you know you might be misunderstood, overlooked, or doubted.
That lesson has stayed with me in every room where I have had to fight to be heard.
I also think about Theodore Roosevelt's words, which Brown frequently references in Dare to Lead through his famous "Man in the Arena" speech:
"It is not the critic who counts... but the one who is actually in the arena... who errs, who comes short again and again... because there is no effort without error and shortcoming."
Those words have reflected my own journey in many ways.
- I have been in the arena.
- I have kept going when I was not fully recognized.
- I have trusted that what I was building, what I was saying, and what I was doing mattered, even when it was not immediately affirmed.
And I have learned that it does.
If I could speak to other women
If I could speak to other women, especially those entering this field, I would say this:
- There will be days when you feel unseen.
- There will be rooms where you have to earn your voice.
- There will be moments when you wonder whether you are enough.
But you are.
- You do not have to shrink to belong.
- You do not have to wait to be chosen.
- You do not have to prove your worth to deserve a place.
Take care of yourself in this work.
Really take care of yourself.
Protect your heart.
Find what brings you back to yourself, and hold onto it tightly, because this work will ask a great deal of you.
You cannot give what you do not have.
Let people support you. Let them see you fully-not just the strong version of you, but the human one as well. The right people will not turn away from that. They will stand beside you through it.
And ask.
Even when it feels uncomfortable.
Even when your voice shakes.
- Ask for the opportunity.
- Ask for the help.
- Ask for the chance.
Because sometimes, the moment you choose to ask is the moment everything begins to change.
Showing up anyway
My success has never been about being perfect or having everything figured out.
- It has been about showing up anyway.
- About choosing to stay in the arena.
- About continuing to build, to grow, and to care-even when I was not yet fully seen.
And if there is one thing I hope other women carry with them, it is this:
- You are already worthy.
- You are already enough.
- And one day, the room will catch up to what you have known about yourself all along.
