I realized the impact of my voice the first time a woman founder told me, "No one has ever described what I do that clearly" and I watched her whole posture change. Since then, I've trusted that when I speak up, I'm not just sharing opinions; I'm giving people language that can change their business, their confidence, and the way the world sees them.

I remember having an epiphany regarding asking questions. I used to be afraid to admit that I didn't understand what was being said especially when nobody else had questions either. But following each meeting I would ask my coworkers and they didn't get it either. So then I started speaking up during the meeting to ask for clarification. And everyone would say yes I had the same question. Also, I remember not speaking up when I would know the answer but other people would be talking and they were wrong. I learned that just because people are talkative or confident enough to speak up doesn't mean they are he expert or even knowledgeable about the subject. What I have to say holds weight, is valuable and my voice deserves to be heard.

Losing our Nana and Daddy in the same year made me believe my sister and I would cling to each other, but our different ways of grieving pulled us apart and pushed me into a painful rediscovery of myself. Speaking that truth out loud taught me that my voice matters most when it's honest; even when it reveals how much I still need support.

It didn't happen in one big moment. It was gradual. Bit by bit, the small, skinny girl with buck teeth, secondhand shoes, and hair slicked down with too much Vaseline; the quiet one always picked last for dodgeball, the one with no coordination, no popularity, and no physical talent started finding her voice. One day, she read a prayer out loud without stuttering. Another day, she aced a test everyone expected her to fail. And then there was the soccer game. The ball landed in front of her, and without thinking, she kicked a perfect goal. She used to think those were lucky flukes. But deep down, She knew: there was something in me. She just had to figure out how to harness it.

Yes. When one of the companies I was formerly employed with planned mass layoffs, I advocated for (1) using proper and fair procedures and (2) delaying severance. Speaking up not only protected employees but gave them time and dignity. "I learned that your voice carries real value when it advocates for the fair treatment of others. It isn't about benefiting yourself, but about striving to champion good for others, even when you have nothing to gain from speaking up."

As General Counsel of a company, you are the trusted legal advisor for the company. You must build that trust. With that trust I was able to save a company a massive government shutdown, by convincing the CEO and the head of marketing to take a questionable product out of the supply chain which was a large revenue generator. The government did come in subsequently to inspect our inventory and we were not sanctioned. There was only a matter of a day to make that decision and having built that trust was vital.

Years ago, before the board positions, public speaking stages,and global teams; I was mentoring young women who reminded me of the version of myself that had been overlooked. One day, a mentee pulled me aside and said: "No one has ever spoken about women like me as if we belong in the future." Her words rearranged something in me.

I'll share my insight on when I realized the impact of my own voice: My work involves changing workflows that are standardized but needs improvements. By training employees involved in these processes, encouraging them, making them understand why changes are imminent. I see them not only listen to my words but actually be the change agents of the processes they're involved into. It's such a great feeling to influence them for the greater good. Sincerely, CT Mendoza Thanks for making me share my thoughts of this Ms Laura 😍

When I stopped contorting myself to fit into roles that weren't built for me, I found my voice. Speaking honestly about what I actually wanted opened the door to starting my own business and building work that finally matched my vision.

There was a pivotal moment in my new role when I realized that my voice mattered. Despite my fears of ridicule, I spoke up in a meeting where silence reigned, and my idea not only resonated with my boss but also transformed into a year-long strategy, proving to me that my contributions are valuable and deserving of recognition.

I realized my voice mattered when I stopped treating my ideas like "someday" and started speaking like a builder. The first time I said, "This is the brand I'm creating and this is who it's for," I felt my power return. My voice became my strategy—because what you can name clearly, you can lead boldly.

I first realized the impact of my own voice while studying for my social work degree, writing thesis papers on topics that affected me personally. When I presented those ideas in class, the room often went quiet. At the time, I was still learning how to harness my voice, and that awareness took time to develop. More recently, I've noticed the quieter but more meaningful ways my voice carries weight, when colleagues come to me for guidance, perspective, or clarity in moments of uncertainty. There have been many instances where speaking up shifted a situation, strengthened a relationship, or opened an unexpected opportunity. I learned to trust that what I have to say holds value because my work requires it. My voice has become one of my most powerful tools, not because it is loud, but because it is intentional. When you find yourself in moments where speaking up is necessary, you grow into that skill and with practice, it becomes steadier every day.

My Nonprofit women's ministry was birthed from my God story, having been a childhood cult survivor coming out of that trauma and letting Jesus in and bringing healing.

Raising a child with special needs changes you in ways nothing else can. It stretches your heart, your patience, and your faith. It also tests your endurance in moments when giving up would feel easier than continuing. I have lived through those moments. There were days filled with appointments, evaluations, uncertainty, and exhaustion; days when I wondered how I could possibly balance motherhood, school, and building a career at the same time. When you are responsible for a child who depends on you in deeper ways, the weight can feel overwhelming. But I made a decision early on: I would not let my circumstances define my limits. Every time I showed up to a meeting to advocate for my child, every time I studied late at night, every time I kept going even when I was tired, I was making a statement; not just for him, but for myself. I was teaching him resilience by living it. I didn't keep going because it was easy. I kept going because demands love courage. Through prayer, determination, and the belief that my children and I deserved a future filled with possibility, I refused to stop dreaming. Today, I am building my career in Human Resources and leadership development while raising my remarkable children who continue to inspire me with their strength. To every mother walking this road: you are stronger than you know. Your dreams do not have to disappear because your journey is different. You can love fiercely, advocate boldly, and still become who you were meant to be. Never giving up is not a single moment. It is a choice you make every day. And I choose it, every time.

I can't point to a single moment when I realized the impact of my voice, but I can say that I've always believed I could do anything—simply because why not? Even when managers or coworkers doubted me, I trusted myself and proved them wrong. The moment I found a manager and a team who genuinely believed in me, it felt like the sky became the limit. Work culture is so important—surround yourself with people who want to see you grow, and they'll multiply your success. That support, combined with confidence in your own abilities, is what gives your voice real impact.

I realized the impact of my voice years ago, back in the early 2000's, when I set out to write a book called The Greatest Wedding Gift (title later changed to The Wedding Gift), a memoir and tribute to my deceased mother. My mother was the greatest influence in my life and one of the loves of my life. I was totally in uncharted territory, having never written a book, but I love challenges, starting new projects, and growing. I had the first draft read by a published poet friend and a female client. I will never forget her saying to me, "There is a lot of good stuff here, Margaret, I think you should pursue getting it published. One other close friend gave me a thumbs-up as well, so I decided to go for it and write this book honoring my mother. However, I knew I had to get an editor. I looked for female editors in my area, in particular those who edited some Christian books I had read from local Christian authors. My book has Christian themes. One woman's name kept popping up while in this discovery process, so I decided to contact her. Was I nervous? Yes...for sure. Doing things you have never done before is scary. But I knew I had to call her. She picked up on the first call. That was a surprise, when I was expecting her voicemail. I explained why I was calling, and I complimented her on the previous books she had edited, some of which were best sellers by famous Christian authors. That made it even more intimidating to talk wth her. However, I had to use my voice and ask if she would take a peek at my manuscript. Initially, she was hesitant; she was a very busy woman, but I continued to ask questions and share more about my book and how it would support a local charity. Something I shared must have piqued her interest, even though I had no idea how to talk to an editor. Maybe she could sense in my voice pain, grief, and yet, purpose, love, drive, and desire to do this for my mom. Eventually, and near the end of our call, she said, "Ok, Margaret, can you send me your manuscript?" I was so excited and responded with, "Yes, can you give me your address?" Once I got all the mailing details, I thanked her, and we hung up. Within a few days, the manuscript was on its way to this editor. I followed that up with a thank-you e-mail to her as well. But this moment of asking for services from someone I did not know in an industry I was so unfamiliar with was empowering. It was a big win for me; I reached out and dared to ask, and it was granted. Women cannot afford not to ask questions in many situations in life; it just takes some courage in the moment and putting aside the fear, or learning how to deal with the fear in the proper ways. We have to speak up, raise our hands, ask questions, ask for services, and share our views. People want to hear them. My voice served me well in that moment, and I was able to get a successful editor to look at my manuscript. The power and excitement in our voices can be felt even over the phone. Don't ever be afraid to use your voice. What you have to say matters, and we can't be silent and just hope...we have to act. A few months passed, and she sent the manuscript back to me. I still have the cover letter she put on the front. In that letter, she said, "Dear Margaret, or Peg...as I feel I know you well enough to call you. This is a beautiful tribute to your mother. A great way to work through your pain, make some sense of it...purposeful suffering." "Congratulations on just doing it. For the first time, this is quite impressive." Wow, I thought when I read this opening and the rest of her letter. I was simply over the moon and full of joy with her response. Her words basically launched my literary career, and I now have one more book in the works and hopefully more in the future. A woman editor took a chance on me, and I will forever be grateful to her. Finding the courage to ask for something, to use my voice, and secure an editor was a very pivotal point in my life.

There wasn't one cinematic moment where I suddenly "found my voice." It was quieter than that—more like realizing, over time, that every room I'd ever been in ran better when I stopped shrinking myself. The turning point came when I left the kitchen and started building INDYpendent Bytes. I was sitting across from a room full of people with titles I'd never had—directors, founders, policy leaders—and I heard myself explaining the broken economics of restaurant procurement with a clarity that surprised even me. They weren't nodding politely. They were taking notes. That was the moment I understood: my lived experience was expertise. Sixteen years of being the one reconciling invoices, juggling vendors, and absorbing the consequences of bad systems had given me a perspective no one else in the room had. Speaking up didn't just shift the conversation—it opened doors, partnerships, and opportunities I never would've accessed if I'd waited to feel "qualified." I learned to trust my voice the same way you learn to trust a knife in a kitchen: by using it every day, even when your hands shake a little. The more I spoke from the truth of what I'd lived, the more I saw how much people needed someone to say it out loud. That's when I stopped asking whether my voice had value and started acting like it did.