A Reaction Piece: Speak Boldly. The Weight We No Longer Have to Carry Alone.

What Happened When I Finally Spoke Boldly.

A reaction piece to my public speaking debut at Speak Boldly Portsmouth, NH on 09.24.26. Full production, including my talk, will be available mid-October 2026 through Portsmouth Public Media at www.ppmtvnh.org.   

There is something extraordinary about standing in front of a room full of strangers and telling them things you've spent years trying to make sense of yourself. 

I recently had the privilege of being invited to speak at Speak Boldly, a showcase that gives women from all walks of life a platform to share their personal stories, experiences, and perspectives. It was an opportunity I approached with equal parts excitement and absolute terror. 

I knew what I wanted to say. I knew why I needed to say it. What I didn't anticipate was how I would feel afterward. 

Lighter. 

Not because my story had changed. Not because the difficult chapters had somehow been rewritten or erased. But because, for the first time, I felt as though I had taken this enormous suitcase of emotional baggage, opened it in front of the universe, and said: 

Here. This is what I've been carrying. 

And somehow, I didn't have to pack all of it back up and take it home with me. 

I could leave some of it there. I no longer had to carry its full weight alone. 

The Silence Before the Story 

My vulnerability didn't begin when I stepped onto that stage. 

It began only a few minutes before that. 

As I waited for the event to begin, I found myself wrestling with something I hadn't anticipated: shame. 

Was I really going to stand in front of a room full of people and air my dirty laundry? Share the intimate details of a marriage that had slowly diminished my sense of self? 

What would people think? 

Would they feel sorry for me? Judge me? Dismiss my experience because, after all, wasn't I the one who had chosen the wrong husband? 

There it was. Shame. 

Shame has a funny way of creeping in, doesn't it? (Thank you, Brené Brown, for helping us recognize it.) 

Even after you've done the work, reclaimed your independence, and begun rebuilding your life, shame can quietly whisper that perhaps you should keep certain chapters to yourself. 

I wasn't just afraid of sharing what had happened to me. I was afraid of what people might think it said about me. 

And that realization was uncomfortable. 

Because here I was, preparing to give a talk about reclaiming my voice, while simultaneously questioning whether I had the right to use it. The irony wasn't lost on me. 

But I began to understand something important: Shame had already taken enough from me. I wasn't going to give it the microphone, too. 

So I stepped on stage and stopped the natural flow of speaking- the audience sitting in an uncomfortable silence waiting for me to begin. 

No introduction. No explanation. Just silence. 

It was uncomfortable. Intentionally so. 

Because my story was about the kind of silence that slowly becomes your way of life. The kind that develops when you learn to measure your words, anticipate someone's reactions, question your instincts, and eventually become so accustomed to making yourself smaller that you barely recognize you're doing it. 

I spoke about losing my voice in a marriage where I was repeatedly told what I didn't bring to the table. 

About the emotional armor we build. About the exhausting business of trying to prove our worth to someone who has already decided not to see it. 

And about the moment we begin to understand that reclaiming our voice isn't necessarily one grand, courageous act. Sometimes, it's simply deciding that we will no longer participate in our own silence. 

I ended my talk with a line that has become deeply personal to me: 

"After spending so many years being told what I didn't bring to the table, I finally know what I do. I bring my own chair." 

What I didn't fully appreciate until afterward was that standing on that stage was another way of bringing my chair. 

I wasn't asking permission to tell my story. I was finally owning it. 

Something Happens When We Share Our Stories 

For years, I believed certain experiences were mine to process privately. That talking about them might make someone uncomfortable. That vulnerability could be mistaken for weakness. That perhaps some things were better left unsaid. 

But something remarkable happens when you tell your story aloud. 

You discover that the things you thought made you different, damaged, embarrassed, or alone are often the very things that connect you to another human being. 

Someone in that audience may never have experienced my particular circumstances. But perhaps she knows what it feels like to question her worth. To lose herself in a relationship. To be dismissed. To be afraid of starting over. 

Or perhaps she has an entirely different story she's never had the opportunity—or courage—to share. 

Perhaps the hardest part of sharing our stories isn't revisiting what happened. It's confronting the shame we've attached to it. The fear that someone will question our decisions, judge our circumstances, or wonder why we didn't recognize things sooner. 

But our stories are not evidence of our failures. They are evidence of our humanity. And we shouldn't have to edit out the uncomfortable chapters to make ourselves more acceptable to others. 

That's the extraordinary thing about vulnerability. It doesn't require identical experiences. It simply requires humanity. 

And when one woman finds the courage to speak, she creates a little more room for another woman to do the same. 

The Gift of Speak Boldly 

Being invited to participate in Speak Boldly was an extraordinary opportunity, and one I will remain grateful for. 

There is something profoundly special about an organization that recognizes the power of women's lived experiences and creates an environment where those stories can be shared with compassion, encouragement, and respect. 

Not every woman has a polished presentation, a bestselling book, a professional speaking career, or a perfectly packaged inspirational message. 

Nor should she need one. 

Some of the most important stories belong to women who have never held a microphone. 

Women who have survived something. Built something. Lost something. Challenged something. Reinvented themselves. Or simply lived through an experience that changed the way they understand the world. 

Speak Boldly recognizes that our stories have value, not because we've perfected the art of telling them, but because they're ours. 

And the supportive environment surrounding the experience matters enormously. Vulnerability is not easy. It requires a certain amount of trust to stand before others and share pieces of yourself that you may have spent years keeping carefully tucked away. 

To be given that opportunity, and to have your story received with such warmth and compassion, is a gift. One I hope more women will give themselves permission to experience. 

Your Story Doesn't Have to Be Extraordinary to Matter 

If there is one thing I hope another woman takes away from my experience, it is this: 

You do not have to wait until you've completely healed to share what you've been through. 

You don't need to have all the answers. You don't need to have transformed every painful experience into some magnificent life lesson. 

And you certainly don't need to be a professional speaker. You simply need a story you feel ready to tell. 

Maybe yours is about motherhood, grief, divorce, career, identity, illness, reinvention, or the unexpected, sometimes humorous turns life has taken. 

Maybe it's about something you once thought you would never say aloud, or discovering a strength you didn't know you possessed. 

Whatever it is, I encourage you to consider sharing it. 

Not because you owe the world your most private experiences. You don't. 

But because telling your story, when you are ready and on your own terms, can be incredibly cathartic. 

And because somewhere, there may be a woman who needs to hear precisely what you have to say. 

A woman who believes she is the only one. A woman who hasn't yet found the words. A woman who needs to know that she is not alone. 

An Invitation to Speak Boldly 

If you've ever felt that quiet pull to tell your story, I encourage you to explore Speak Boldly. 

All you need is to be willing to consider that your voice, your perspective, and your experiences might mean something to someone else. 

And if standing on a stage isn't something you're ready for, there is still tremendous value in becoming part of a community that listens, encourages, and celebrates the voices of other women. 

Explore opportunities to apply as a speaker, attend a showcase, support the organization, or simply become part of its community. 

Sometimes we begin by speaking. Sometimes we begin by listening. Both matter. 

What I Left on That Stage 

When I walked onto that stage, I brought my story with me. All of it. The painful pieces, the uncomfortable truths, the lessons, and the parts I had spent years trying to reconcile. 

When I walked off, I still owned that story. But something had shifted. 

The weight of it no longer felt entirely mine to carry. 

I had released something into the universe, and rather than feeling exposed, I felt supported. Rather than feeling diminished by my vulnerability, I felt stronger for having allowed it. 

I don't know whether sharing my experience changed anyone else's life that evening. But I know it changed something in mine. 

And if my words helped even one woman recognize a piece of herself, question the silence she's been living in, or feel a little less alone, then every uncomfortable second of standing behind that microphone was worth it. 

For so long, I thought finding my voice meant finally having something important to say. I'm beginning to understand that it also means trusting that what I've lived through is worthy of being heard. And perhaps that's what we can offer one another. 

Not the promise that life will be easy. Not the illusion that we can erase what has happened to us. But the simple, powerful reassurance that we don't have to carry everything alone. 

Your story matters. Your voice matters. And somewhere, someone may be waiting to hear it. 

Speak boldly. 

— Rebecca Dominguez, Founder, The Atlantic Club. Host, Uninvited. Seat Claimed. 

Have a story you've been waiting to tell? 

Speak Boldly celebrates the power of women's stories and provides a supportive environment for women to share their experiences, find their voices, and inspire others. 

Whether you're interested in speaking, attending an upcoming showcase, or supporting its mission, I encourage you to learn more. 

Explore Speak Boldly at www.speakboldlyshowcase.com