I grew up in a family where children were to be seen and not heard. Sit quietly at the dinner table. Sit politely in church. Do not make a scene. Do not take up too much space.
And being a curious, opinionated child in a very boisterous German family, that was a considerable ask.
So I became a questioner. I learned that if I wanted to hear what others truly thought, I had to be willing to share what I truly thought. You cannot receive honesty if you are not offering it. I learned to be a listener by first learning to speak up. Those two things are not in conflict. They are partners.
But here is where it gets complicated for us as women in this profession.
There is a particular kind of silence that gets mistaken for professionalism. A nodding along in rooms where your name was not on the agenda. A withholding of your ideas because you have read the room and determined that this particular group of people may not receive them well. A quieting of your real thoughts because you have been told, in ways both direct and indirect, that your voice is an interruption.
That kind of silence is survival. Strength looks different.
Strength is knowing when to speak and when to listen, and choosing both with intention.
Serving families who are grieving you learn something profound. You learn to sit in silence. You learn that sometimes the most powerful thing you can offer is your presence, stillness, and willingness to simply be there in the weight of someone else’s pain without rushing to fill the space. That silence is sacred. That silence is a gift.
But that same silence, imported into a boardroom, into a staff meeting, into a conversation with a manager who is not treating your team well, is no longer sacred. It is costly, and it costs you your influence, the advocate your team needs, the voices that might actually move the profession forward.
Too often, I see women in our profession remain silent because they do not want to be seen as difficult. They swallow their concerns, minimize their expertise, and wait for permission that never quite comes. And I understand why. I have been in rooms full of men, most of them owners, all of them sharing their opinions with great confidence, and felt the particular pressure of that moment. The unspoken question hanging in the air: do I belong here?
Yes, you belong there. And your voice belongs there, too.
Here is what I know about the women who change things.
They are not the loudest people in the room. They are the most prepared.
They do their homework, know their numbers, have thought carefully about what they want to say, and then they say it, even when their hands are shaking a little underneath the table.
Being a lifelong learner means you earn the right to speak. But it also means you have the responsibility to speak, because there are women coming up behind you who need to see it done. They need to see that a woman can walk into a difficult conversation, hold her ground professionally and graciously, and walk out still standing. Still herself.
You do not have to be the loudest nor the most aggressive. You do not have to sacrifice your warmth or your heart to have a seat at the table and use it.
You just have to decide that your voice matters.
Where in your career are you staying quiet when you know you should speak? What would change if you said the thing you have been holding back?
#FindYourVoice #WomenInFuneralService #FuneralWomenLead #LeadWithHeart #SpeakUp #HeartBasedLeadership #NextEraLeaders
