The Honey Edit

Real confidence isn’t about volume; it’s about trusting your voice again.

I’ve been noticing something lately: for a long time, I’ve been my own toughest critic. The constant commentary “that won’t look good,” “you’ll never keep up with that,” “why even try?” somehow became the default soundtrack in my head. At some point, that voice stopped being protective and just became plain harsh.

And now, in the middle of dealing with torn hip cartilage and preparing for foot surgery, my body feels like it’s speaking just as loudly as my mind. The aches are real. The stiffness, the exhaustion, the frustration of moving slower than I want to, all of it tests my patience daily. But strangely, this season has also forced me to soften the way I talk to myself. I’ve started to realize that storing negativity in my body hasn’t been harmless because it’s showing up in aches and stiffness. It feels like my body is carrying the weight of old stories and silenced feelings. So now, part of my healing isn’t just physical; it’s about finding ways to release the trauma and the things I buried so long ago.

Lately, I’ve been shifting that inner dialogue. Slowly, intentionally. Letting go of clothes that don’t reflect who the person I am now all reminding me I don’t have to live for an old version of myself. Prioritizing self-care, like a HydraFacial, reminded me that taking care of me isn’t selfish — it’s necessary. Being mindful about meals reminded me that nourishment is about strength, not shame. And reconnecting with my spirituality reminded me I’m not carrying everything alone, especially when my body feels heavy and tired.

All those small moments have started to change how I speak to myself.

It’s not perfect. Yes, some days hurt more than others but more often now, I catch myself saying things like, “You’re doing the best you can with what you’re carrying today,” instead of pushing through with criticism. Even when my body aches, I’m learning to meet it with patience instead of anger. To say, “Rest is allowed. Healing takes time. You’re still showing up.”

Confidence, I’m realizing, isn’t just about feeling strong, it’s about being gentle when you’re not. It’s choosing kindness even when your body feels like it’s protesting everything.

The critical voice still shows up, sure. But now I’m learning to answer it with compassion, humor, and trust — and a quiet belief that even in recovery, even in discomfort, I am still worthy of grace.

So, let me ask you: if your inner voice spoke kindly to you today, what would you want it to say?