Jacqueline Fisch @theintuitivewritingschool

I never entertained the idea of digging into my past to examine how I grew up until I heard others' stories of struggle, sadness, loss, and trauma. After returning to that shiny corporate boardroom after my first maternity leave, I looked around and wondered, "What the hell am I doing here?" 

I had a deep knowing that I was meant for more — but what? 

This led me where most lost souls find themselves — to the self-development section of the bookstore. I read a lot and quickly discovered similar themes in popular books. The bestsellers all had the most dramatic tales of trauma. Horrific stories that would be just as jarring on the big screen. One book after the next, people were experiencing the lowest of lows and then taking the reader on a journey to complete transformation.

Their stories weren't my stories. I couldn't relate at all.

I don't need to get into the details of these specific stories, but the hook in all of them was that they'd all been through some terrible and dark things that no one should have to go through — sexual abuse, rape, anger, and fear. Even as I'd gather with new friends, I'd find the ones who appeared to have their shit the most together were the ones who'd fall apart in record speed after two chardonnays. Triggered by something that came up in conversation, one would start to shed tears, and friends on all sides of the table would rush to soothe her. And then, one by one, they'd all empathize — "Me too," "I get it," "I've been there."

Each time I heard their stories, I thought, Wow, that's terrible. I can't even imagine. And then I'd sit there with a stupid look on my face, listening as best I could, nodding along, and letting them know I saw them, saying what felt like the right things to say, like, "That must have been so hard," and "I can't imagine," and, "I'm so sorry that happened to you." 

Even in online groups, I always knew which emoji to drop into the comments — green hearts for healing energy, prayer hands to send prayers, red hearts for love.

I believed I didn’t have anything important to say, so I'd sit quiet — a lot.

My life story didn't come with these chapters. I couldn't say "me too" without lying. I felt like I was different, sheltered perhaps, and highly privileged.

My stories were boring and not dramatic enough compared with theirs. And somehow, because I grew up in middle-class Toronto suburbia, I believed my stories weren't powerful enough, so I'd sit quiet — a lot. 

Even when I started doing breakthrough work and hypnosis to dive deeper into these stories, it brought up even more awkward questions. 

Who am I to tell these stories? 

Do I recognize my privilege only after someone reminds me of it? 

Who even cares? 

Do I have anything important to say?

I’d later learn that these are the inner critic voices that darkness uses to keep us stuck, small — and especially quiet.

I distinctly remember family events where relatives would comment on how quiet I was. Sometimes they'd tell me that I was sitting so still that I looked like a statue. Being invisible was safer, no one could criticize me this way.

Speak when you're spoken to.

Only say something when you have something nice to say.

Speak to adults with respect.

You need to say whatever you need to make people like you.

Speaking up and even speaking, in general, was challenging for me. Even today, I much prefer the comfort of a notebook to work out how I feel about something to know what I think before opening my mouth.

Early in my management consulting career, I'd have to speak a lot. I'd be nervous and would sometimes stumble over my words. Especially when I feared I had made a mistake or would be called out for doing something wrong. I had to do enough big presentations to overcome those fears relatively quickly. I was speaking on my company's behalf for the most part. I was sharing their truth — not mine. 

Then it came time to share my truths. One of the very first blogs I published when I had a plant-based food blog was about how I took my then 16-month-old son off of dairy to avoid an unnecessary tonsillectomy. It worked. And in publishing that first piece, I worried about offending people — all those who did have their tonsils cut out of their throats, those who still drank cow's milk.

Most of these fears were unfounded — no one would actually say shitty things.

Occasionally, I'd write something that was triggering to someone. Like when a relative didn't like a blog post suggesting that men in corporate drop their ties — it was like putting a bow on their ego. This relative only commented on my writing to tell me I was too harsh. And she was offended because her husband had to wear a tie to work. There will always be Karens who don't like what you have to say. 

YOU’RE NOT WRITING FOR THE CRITICS — YOU’RE WRITING FOR YOUR FANS.

I'm glad these events didn't stop me from writing. My writing will always offend someone. And my writing isn't for everyone. It's for the people who need to read it.

Wealthy, happy, and successful people will never criticize you. The only people who will spew their negativity at you are those who are jealous, unhappy, and miserable.

My throat chakra seemed to be open for writing, but for speaking sometimes, I wasn't there yet.

A few short years ago, I'd be on zoom calls with clients or in a group, and someone would say something that didn't sit well with me. I had something to say. First, I'd notice my heart rate rise. Then, I'd become acutely aware of my neck. It would be so stiff that I was worried about moving it out of fear that it would creak so loud that everyone on the call would hear it. It wasn't a trigger — I often had a truth to share — a knowing, a personal experience, something that was mine to share.

I'd often mute myself and stretch my neck from side to side, relieving the pressure. That worked in the moment, but I wouldn't speak up later either. I wasn't actually doing the work to heal, so I left much unsaid. I had truths to share, and I wasn't sharing them. 

I was keeping my stories to myself. Keeping them locked deep inside where no one could hear them. 

While deep in revisions of Unfussy Life, while that inner voice still whispered in my ear, "no one wants to read your stories," I had a dream that jolted me awake. My heart pounding, I looked around the room to make sure I was still alive.

In the dream, I was attempting to speak. Except the words didn't come. I opened my mouth — and nothing. Now, I've had plenty of dreams about losing teeth and walking into school without pants (more than I care to admit), but the no-voice thing — this was new.

I remember opening my mouth, and when the words wouldn't come, I'd grasp my throat, eyes wide in horror. I couldn't speak. At that moment, I realized that not speaking up

meant death. 

BY NOT SPEAKING, I WAS DYING.

Next, I started sinking into bed and through the second floor, into death, where I'd cease to exist. When I woke up, I saw my husband in bed and realized it was all a dream. Phew!

I recommitted to finishing the book and self-published it a few months later. 

THROAT CHAKRA — FULL ACTIVATION IN PROGRESS.

The only thing that would eventually need to stop the creaky neck? Beginning the real healing work. 

It was late 2020, and a business connection was sharing the insights behind what was really going on in the world. When I read her posts, I felt a deep knowing that it was truth. Everything clicked — it just made sense. She shared Liana Shanti's work, which led me down an even deeper healing path.

She’s a teacher’s teacher and all-around spiritual and business badass. I admire the unshakeable, completely grounded way in which she shares truth like no other. She shared in one of our recent conversations how many people have blocked throat chakras, so their writing isn’t great. This kind of writing you read and sense as controlled, stifled, and forced. Not the type of intuitive writing I teach.

In 2021, I joined her community and signed up for some of her programs. The first, Lifepath Manifesting. Holy shit, was I in for an eye-opening. I had been glossing over and bypassing in so many areas of my life. When you start doing real healing work, previously buried experiences bubble up to the surface to be healed.

I uncovered pretty quickly that I, in fact, did experience a terrible event at the hand of someone who was supposed to love and protect me. That’s a story for another book — and I’ve got to finish the second one first.

When I was digging into my past while writing Unfussy Life, the truth started to emerge. And later, when I started going deeper into healing, the truth became clear. I also worked privately with a breakthrough coach around this time to work on rewriting old beliefs, and creating supportive habits for myself, and growing my business.

Healing is ongoing. I'm not finished. This is lifelong work — which is also why so many quit or don't even start. I've healed a lot of shit and still have work to do. By finally speaking up whenever the urge struck, I started healing my throat chakra. I also threw out my oracle cards, stopped consulting reiki and tarot practitioners, and focused on nurturing my heath even more (I’d been on and off vegan since 2010).

It’s opening up deeper layers in my writing, too, that I didn’t sense there before. I can still feel it all unfolding, and while I tend to want to rush the process, I know I need to surrender and trust.

Now, my neck doesn't creak when I have something to say. My throat is open when it's time to speak. I might feel fear, but I say what I need to say anyway. 

And bit by bit, the more we speak, write, and share our truths, we clear ourselves.

Speaking up when I'm called has opened up so much more for me. I feel clear, more creative, and even more like myself. Completely congruent and aligned.