Better to Others, Bitter to Myself: A Journey to Finding My Voice

Part of the Voice I Almost Lost – Blog #1
by Alana Pierre Curry

Intro: The Helper Who Forgot Herself

I have always been the advocate. Even as a child, I found myself stepping into roles of protector, counselor, and fixer. If someone was hurting, I leaned in. If something was wrong, I tried to make it right. I was the one who would reach into my purse in the middle of a busy city to help a stranger in need—not because it was safe, but because it felt right.

People often turned to me—not because I had all the answers, but because I listened. I showed up. I made space for others in a world that often makes people feel small. Whether it was coworkers needing fair pay or friends navigating crisis, I fought for them. I never liked when people used their status, degrees, confidence, or wardrobe to make others feel less than. Those moments, to me, were missed chances to lift someone up.

Pivot: Trusting the System Over Myself

But somewhere along the way, I began to confuse selflessness with silence. When I was underpaid, I rationalized it. I assumed that because we were all working for a cause, the sacrifices were shared. I thought my value would be seen without me having to say it aloud. A small nod in a meeting or the occasional thank you felt like enough—because I believed people were being fair.

They weren’t. And I wasn’t being fair to myself either.

Reflection: The Shrinking Voice

There are moments that still sting—where I can look back and see just how much I dimmed my own light. I think the earliest cracks in my self-worth started in childhood. I was made to feel that my body, my presence, was somehow too much. I remember the names. The comparisons. The cruel jokes disguised as observations. I come from a family of shapely women, and I developed early. But instead of being embraced, I was made to feel ashamed. I began to shrink myself, physically and emotionally. I didn’t want to be seen. I wanted to disappear.

As I grew older, I carried those insecurities into relationships—giving my all in exchange for their minimum. And then, in one relationship, I experienced something I never imagined would be part of my story: domestic violence. I learned why women stay. I learned how silence becomes survival. I called for help—three times. But the help never came. I remember telling the police the last time, “If you don’t do something now, the next time you’re called, I’ll be dead.” They still did nothing.

Resolution: The Voice in the Quiet

Now, at 51—almost 52—I feel different. Not because everything is healed or figured out. But because I am tired. I am tired of being quiet to be accepted. Tired of being overlooked. Tired of some people making assumptions about who I am based on how little I speak, or how shy I might seem. They do not know my story. They have never earned my trust.

But every now and then, there are moments when I feel so incredibly confident. Moments where I wish I could bottle the feeling, hold it close, and pour it over myself when doubt creeps in. And maybe, in a way, that is what this blog will be: a collection of those bottled moments. Proof that I am finding my voice—even if it wavers.

Recently, I learned a former leader told my current boss that to really support me, she would have to earn my trust. When I heard that, I felt so seen. He got it. He got me. That moment was a gift. A reminder that being quiet is not the same as being weak—and that my trust is something sacred.

Invitation: A Shared Journey

This blog is not about being perfect or healed. It is about being real. I invite you to walk with me through this evolution—through the stops and starts, the lessons and the letting go. I am learning to be better for myself, not just for others. I am learning to speak up, to take up space, and to be seen without changing who I am.

If any part of this feels familiar to you, I hope you will stay. Maybe we will find our voices together.