We don’t talk enough about the survival instinct behind speaking up. Not the polished, professional kind of speaking up. The guttural, trembling, truth-shaking-out-of-you kind. The kind that leaves you breathless but finally free. And I get it; it can be nerve-racking and scary, but using our voice isn’t just about empowering ourselves — it’s self-preservation. It’s mental health. It’s self care. It’s a psychological act of survival in a world that often asks us to stay quiet.
That was one of the biggest takeaways from our recent episode of REAL TALK: Mental Health Sounds Like This, when author and activist Leslie Morgan Steiner joined us to unpack her journey through domestic violence, trauma, healing, and unapologetic truth-telling.
Watch the video version of the podcast conversation here:
Leslie described surviving years of abuse in a relationship that looked perfect from the outside. The abuse began five days before her wedding—on what should have been one of the happiest moments of her life. From there, the violence escalated. What began as emotional manipulation spiraled into physical violence, strangulation, and threats involving loaded weapons. And yet — she stayed. Not because she didn’t know something was wrong, but because trauma bonding is real. Because when your heart and nervous system are in survival mode, love and fear start to feel intertwined. You learn to normalize the chaos. You begin to believe that enduring the hurt is part of what love looks like. And when those rare, tender moments come between the storms, you cling to them, hoping they’ll last.
Eventually, Leslie found her voice — not just to speak up, but to reclaim her story. She became an author, a speaker, and an advocate against domestic violence. She transformed her trauma into teaching moments that help others understand the warning signs, the psychological effects, and the power of speaking out. Through her work, she’s shown that vulnerability is not weakness — it’s a call to action. And in doing so, she proved something powerful:Speaking up is not about confrontation. It’s about liberation.
In the chaos of daily life, it’s easy to ignore the small acts of emotional neglect we endure. We spend so much time managing stress, meeting the demands of others, and trying to feel good that we forget to take care of our own well-being. But if you don’t schedule time to talk, to think, to understand your own needs — your emotions will start to do the talking for you.
I see this often in my Empowerment Through Songwriting program. Survivors of trauma — especially those socialized as women — often learn to stay small. To be palatable. To keep the peace. But when we stay silent, we bury ourselves. We begin to lose the truth of who we are. And then, one day, it starts to leak out — through a journal, a song, a whisper, a scream.
That’s what happened to me when I wrote “Barbed Wire.”
That song was born out of years of unspoken pain. The kind you normalize because you’re scared to name it. Because naming it means you have to do something about it. But I wrote the words anyway. I let them out like a secret slipping through the cracks. It was my way of processing my thoughts in a way that felt [creatively] safe without really letting people in… but it soon became my permission to start advocating for justice against abuse, and an invitation for other survivors to realize [emotionally, instead of just intellectually] that they aren’t alone. And — even better — writing Barbed Wire gave me space to take time for myself, reflect, and listen to what was going on inside… and that mere act is a powerful form of care.
There there’s my song “Save You From Yourself” — a message to anyone still stuck in the cycle of abuse, and the power we each hold when it comes to giving ourselves permission to break out of it. This song was my way of saying [albeit a little aggressively, perhaps]: I see you. I get it. And you’re allowed to choose something better. You are allowed to discover your worth, your boundaries, your voice.
If no one ever taught you that your voice could be your shield, your compass, your saving grace — let this be your sign.
You are not dramatic. You are not broken. You are responding to an unsafe system the best way you know how. But now you get to build a different one. One where your mental and emotional health are a priority. One where taking care of yourself becomes a non-negotiable. A system rooted in:- Boundaries that don’t require permission
- Stories that refuse to be silenced
- Songs that scream what your younger self was too scared to say
- Support that meets you where you are
