Finding Out Why the Void Existed

The Busyness I Thought Was Ambition

For most of my life, I believed I was a go-getter.
I stayed busy. I pushed through. I stacked degrees and skills like stepping stones: AA, bachelor’s, master’s, then, years later, my doctorate. I became a notary, a realtor, a woman who always had something else to accomplish.

But I never stopped to ask why I couldn’t stop.

Back then, I told myself I was driven. Productive. Focused.
In reality, I was doing what many people who grow up with childhood trauma do: staying busy so I didn’t have to feel. Trauma researchers say that adults often “outrun” emotion through overworking because slowing down forces the brain to remember (van der Kolk, 2014).

But I didn’t know that. I thought I was just working hard.

The Quiet Emptiness That Kept Returning

Even with achievements, even with a marriage, children, multiple properties,  something inside me felt disconnected. The emptiness came quietly, in waves. It showed up right in the middle of a beautiful life, as if something was missing, but I couldn’t name it.

I called it sadness.
I called it stress.
I called it exhaustion.

But it wasn’t those things.
It was something deeper. A longing. A void.

Only after my divorce, when silence and stillness finally entered my life, did the truth rise to the surface.

And it hit me like a revelation:

“Cynthia… you don’t love yourself.”

Not fully.
Not yet.
Not in the way you deserve.

The Childhood Message That Followed Me Into Adulthood

It took reflection to understand where the void truly came from.

My aunt, the woman who adopted me, once said she wasn’t worried about me because at least I could “cook and clean” and be somebody’s maid. She didn’t have to tell me I wasn’t worthy; her tone and expectations did that for her.

I wasn’t the child bringing home A’s and B’s. My sister did that.
I was the child with C’s and D’s, not because I couldn’t learn, but because survival was louder than school.

Those childhood messages do not stay in childhood.
Science shows early experiences shape how we see ourselves years later (Harvard Center on the Developing Child, 2010). The brain remembers even when the adult tries to forget.

I grew up needing to prove I was smart.
Needing to prove I was capable.
Needing to prove I was worthy.

But prove it to whom?
The person who planted that seed wasn’t even alive anymore.

Yet I was still carrying her words.

Living for Celebration Instead of Self-Recognition

For years, I kept adding skills, hobbies, and accomplishments, hoping someone would finally celebrate me. I didn’t understand that I was craving external validation because deep inside, I didn’t believe I was enough.

Every time I achieved something new and didn’t feel fulfilled, the void grew stronger.

That was the truth I couldn’t see:
When you don’t celebrate yourself, no amount of applause can fill the emptiness.

The void wasn’t created by what I lacked on the outside.
It was created by what I wasn’t giving myself on the inside.

And the hardest truth of all was this:
I didn’t believe in my own worth.

Slowing Down Revealed the Truth

Stillness is powerful, but stillness is also scary when you’ve been running from yourself your whole life.

After the divorce,  when the noise stopped and responsibilities shifted, I finally had space to breathe. And in that breathing room, something sacred became clear:

The void existed because I was living from the voice of a wounded little girl, not the woman I had grown into.

I had been:

• waiting for others to celebrate me

• waiting for validation

• waiting for someone to tell me I was enough

But the healing came when I understood that I didn’t need any of that.

God had been blessing me all along, but I was too busy striving to notice.
I had taken my own resilience for granted.
I had overlooked the quiet ways in which I made a difference in people’s lives every single day.

The void wasn’t telling me I needed more.
It was telling me I needed me.

The Moment the Void Finally Had a Name

When I stopped running, I could finally see the truth:

The void existed because the little girl inside me didn’t feel worthy.
And the adult version of me never paused long enough to heal her.

But once I saw the truth… once I named it… once I connected the feeling to the wound…

Everything shifted.

Purity & Reflection taught me that worthiness is not earned through accomplishments, applause, or perfection.
It is God-given, internal, and untouched by anyone else’s expectations.

And when that truth settled into my spirit,
the void softened.
It quieted.
It finally made sense.

I wasn’t missing anything.
I was simply returning to myself.

KEY TAKEAWAY

The void wasn’t created by lack; it was created by silence.
By slowing down and facing the truths we once avoided, we reclaim our worth and step into deeper self-love. Healing begins when we courageously name what hurt us, honor what shaped us, and finally give ourselves the compassion we were missing.
Worthiness is not earned. It is remembered.

ORGANIZATION REFLECTION (SILWELL-C Leadership Lens)

Every organization has its own version of a “void”: the unspoken stories, the unaddressed wounds, the moments when staff feel unseen or undervalued. Just as individuals need reflection, systems do too.

When leaders slow down long enough to listen, patterns become visible:

• Where staff are carrying emotional weight

• Where recognition is missing

• Where assumptions have replaced connection

• Where old narratives are shaping current behaviors

Purity & Reflection invites programs to pause and ask:
Where in our organization have we filled the silence with busyness rather than with understanding?

When we make space for truth, healing, and honest communication, teams feel lighter, relationships deepen, and the culture shifts.

Reflective Note: When we pause long enough to listen, our truth always rises to the surface.
If you’ve ever felt a quiet emptiness you couldn’t explain, know that you’re not alone.
Sometimes the void isn’t a sign of lack; it’s an invitation to return to the parts of ourselves we’ve ignored. Give yourself permission to slow down, breathe, and let clarity meet you where you are.

References

• van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score.

• Felitti & Anda. (1997). ACE Study, CDC.

• Center on the Developing Child, Harvard University (2010). Early Experiences Shape Lifelong Health.

Having a Void in Your Life and Not Knowing Why It Existed

Clarity begins when we pause long enough to see ourselves clearly. In this space, we turn inward, not for judgment, but for grace. Reflection brings alignment, and purity of thought brings peace. These moments guide you toward lightness and quiet understanding.

The Hidden Story Behind High Performance

Content Note

Every educator and leader carries a personal story beneath the surface.
As you read, consider the story you bring to the spaces where you lead and serve.

All my life, I was a worker and an achiever.
If there was a task in front of me, I completed it and then immediately chased another. From a little girl, people praised my ambition. They’d say, “You’re always aiming for the next goal,”. And I believed them. I thought ambition was what defined me.

As I got older, accomplishments became a way of life.
I opened a childcare center. I became a notary. I launched businesses. I earned a Bachelor’s, a Master’s, and a Doctorate, a résumé full of success, but a heart that still felt strangely… empty.

Everyone around me admired me. I smiled and thanked them, but inside, I wondered why none of it filled the silence I felt in my spirit.

I pushed harder. I worked more. I achieved the next big thing, and the next. Each time I thought:
This will be the moment I feel whole.
But the moment never came.

For decades, I could not explain what I was feeling. I would quietly ask others:
“Do you ever feel empty, like something is missing but you don’t know what it is?”
Most didn’t understand. Maybe I didn’t truly understand either.

It wasn’t until my fifties, through deep reflection and the birth of SILWELL-C, that the truth revealed itself:
The void I kept trying to fill was a lack of self-worth.

I kept believing that if I achieved more, became more, or earned more, then I would finally be worthy of myself.
But goals, titles, and applause can never define who we are. They are extensions of us, not the source of our value.

This self-recognition mirrors the psychological insight that the stories we tell about ourselves, our narrative identity, have a powerful impact on well-being; people who perceive agency in their lives (not just achievements), and find redeeming meaning in their struggles, tend to report greater life satisfaction. Psychology Today+1

I discovered that inner happiness isn’t earned,  it’s accepted. It’s nurtured. It’s claimed.

And once I understood that, everything changed.
I realized so many people are just like me, high-performing, admired, and yet silently aching, people who look successful on the outside but feel incomplete on the inside.

This is why I am passionate about SILWELL-C. Because every one of us deserves a life that feels whole,  even when the world is not watching. We deserve fulfillment that doesn’t fade when the applause stops.

In the language of storytelling frameworks, we each have a “story of self” (why I am on this path), a “story of us” (others who are feeling the same void), and a “story of now” (the urgent invitation to connect with our inner worth). The Commons+1

Inner happiness is not a goal; it’s a home we learn to return to.

Reflection for Readers

• Have you ever placed your worth in what you accomplish?

• Do you celebrate who you are even when you are not “achieving”?

• What small ways can you honor your happiness from the inside out?

Key Takeaway

You are worthy before the achievement.
You are enough without the title.
And peace begins the moment you choose yourself.

How This Story Connects to SILWELL-C

This story reminds us that every person,  every teacher, every leader, every staff member,  has an unseen emotional journey. SILWELL-C helps organizations honor those stories so people can find fulfillment not just in what they accomplish, but in who they are.

Organizational Reflection

• How might staff achievements be masking deeper needs?

• What systems are in place to support the person behind the role?

• Do leaders make space for staff to feel valued beyond performance?

Where story meets science, strength grows through understanding.

• Boardman, S. “Take Control of the Story You Tell About Yourself.” Psychology Today, April 3 2023. Psychology Today

• “The Power of Story: The Story of Self, Us and Now.” Commons Library / Leading Change Network. The Commons+2Playworks+2

• Grumet, J. M. “The Story You Tell Yourself: Why storytelling is the hidden bridge between meaning, purpose, and happiness.” Psychology Today, May 8 2025. Psychology Today

The Mirror That Didn’t See Me

Clarity begins when we pause long enough to see ourselves clearly. In this space, we turn inward, not for judgment, but for grace. Reflection brings alignment, and purity of thought brings peace. These moments guide you toward lightness and quiet understanding.

When love is given by shade, it teaches you to doubt your own light.

Content Note

This story explores early family experiences of favoritism, colorism, and emotional neglect.
It may resonate deeply with those who’ve struggled to feel seen or valued in their own families.

When I first came from Belize, I entered a home where love was handed out by shade and shaped by what she admired, not by who we were. My aunt, a proud and strict Jamaican woman, carried her own pain from being called ugly for her dark skin. I didn’t realize it then, but she passed that pain on.

Her great-grandchildren were fair-skinned, with loose curls, and she cherished them like treasure. One great-grandchild lived with us, and she seemed to live a life I could only watch from the sidelines. She went to acting school, shopped in Beverly Hills, and carried lunch money I could only dream of. I, on the other hand, was told I’d be fine because I knew how to cook and clean and that I could always be someone’s maid.

By six, I was cooking meals, washing dishes, watering dozens of plants, and keeping the house spotless. If I forgot a task, I was disciplined. My sister and cousin were spared those duties; they were the “smart” and “pretty” ones. My cousin had children while living with us, yet I was the one threatened with being sent back to Belize if I ever even had a boyfriend.

The rules were not about behavior; they were about who mattered, and in that home, I did not matter. My hair was too tight, and my voice too small. I grew up questioning my beauty, my worth, and even my right to be loved. I learned to earn affection through service, cooking, helping, and fixing, believing I had to work for belonging.

It wasn’t until my fifties that I began to unlearn that lie. Through reflection and healing, I’ve realized that no one gets to define my beauty or worth. The mirror that didn’t see me no longer holds power. I see myself now clear, whole, and deserving.

“The mirror didn’t see me, but I learned to see myself.”

When we grow up unseen, we spend years performing for validation. True reflection invites us to stop performing and be, to look inward with compassion rather than judgment. Every time I choose to see my own light, I restore a part of the little girl who thought she wasn’t enough.

Where story meets science, strength grows through understanding.

Experiences of favoritism and color bias are not just personal; they are backed by social science. In U.S. and U.S.-linked research, darker-skinned individuals report higher stress and psychological distress under discrimination, and adult children who perceive favoritism report lower well-being.
How Skin Tone Influences Psychological Distress (PMC)
Adult Children, Favoritism & Well-Being (Pillemer et al.)
The Persistent Problem of Colorism (Harvard DEIB)

The First Mirror

Clarity begins when we pause long enough to see ourselves clearly. In this space, we turn inward, not for judgment, but for grace. Reflection brings alignment, and purity of thought brings peace. These moments guide you toward lightness and quiet understanding.

Clarity begins with a quiet look within

Warning- Sensitive Topic: The following story contains references to childhood sexual abuse and trauma, which may be distressing for some readers. Please proceed with care and attention to your well-being.

I was only four when I first learned that pain could live in silence. My earliest memories are of Belize, a small wooden house, two bedrooms, six children, and a bunk bed that should have been a place of rest. Instead, it became the first place I lost my innocence.

At night, my half-brother would wait until the room was quiet, then climb to the top bunk where I slept. I didn’t understand what was happening, only that it always came with fear. No one ever told me what to do with fear that had no witness.

Years later, I was brought to the United States for medical treatment and adopted by my aunt. I thought distance would bring safety. However, another relative began to violate those exact boundaries, and once again, the adults around me failed to protect me. I told, and nothing changed. The house was full of people, yet I had nowhere private to sleep, nowhere truly safe to close a door.

By twelve, I had already learned that survival meant planning my escape. I told myself that when I turned eighteen, I would leave, and I did. My aunt passed away the same year, and I walked away carrying the anger of a child who had never been defended.

“When protection never came, I promised myself I would become my own protector.”

Looking back now, I see the little girl who carried more truth than any child should. Her silence became my first mirror, the one that showed me how clarity begins not in blame, but in finally saying what happened out loud. Purity isn’t about untouched innocence; it’s about learning to see yourself clearly, even when the world refuses to see you.

Where story meets science, gentle truths grounded in reflection.

Early adversity is shared and can shape adult health; healing grows with trauma-informed practices and self-compassion.
Good sources: CDC on ACEs; Kristin Neff’s self-compassion research review. CDC+1

Adverse Childhood Experiences Study – CDC (2023)
Self-Compassion and Professional Well-Being (PMC, 2025)