My Voice: My Superpower

Editor’s note to my Readers:
This is one of the most personal stories I’ve ever shared. It belongs to the roots of my journey, the path that inspired The Unexpected Gift. I share it because I know I’m not alone. Many women have been silenced, shamed, or controlled, yet deep within, our voices have always been waiting to rise. This is my story of how I reclaimed mine.

Using my voice has always been one of my greatest superpowers.

One of my earliest memories showed me the intense force of speaking up for what is right.

I was six years old, sitting in Year 1 of a State School during a Maths test. The classroom was silent, strict, and suffocating. Our teacher was known for her unreasonable rules: one of them being that no child could go to the toilet during lessons, only at break time.

That day, my classmate Andrés had a tummy ache and asked to be excused. The teacher said a sharp “No.” Andrés began to cry, and within moments, he soiled himself at his desk. I couldn’t bear the unfairness. I stood up, told the teacher she was a mean person, and helped Andrés leave his desk to go to the toilet.

The price? I was punished for “replying to authority.”

That moment lit a fire in me.

As I grew, my voice was often labelled as rebellion. I became the “black sheep” in my family… the one who dared to question things no one else would, like religion. Going to church felt meaningless to me, yet I was forced to attend, warned that God would punish me for disobedience. My mum and grandma even feared I was possessed by an evil spirit.

But what they saw as “disobedience” was, in truth, survival.

My voice was my shield against the abuse of my stepfather. Speaking up was my only way to protect myself. Rage, fear, and frustration sharpened my words, and though it made me inconvenient, it also made me resilient.

In my teens and early adulthood, my voice faltered. I lost faith in it.

Guilt and shame crept in whenever I prioritised my own joy. Choosing time with friends over a family dinner, for instance, left me burdened with self-blame.

In my first marriage, I surrendered completely. My husband controlled what I wore, where I worked, who I saw, and when I returned home. I silenced myself to keep the peace.

My soul’s desires were buried under layers of fear and submission.

But the silence grew unbearable.

Eventually, I divorced, reclaimed my independence, and began listening to the wisdom within me once more.

One of my self-healing rituals became driving seven hours alone to the mountains to visit my dad. On one of those trips, I made a sacred promise to myself:

“I will do the things that make me happy, no matter what others think or say.”

That vow carried me into a season of confidence and radiance. But it was also a lesson in discernment. In that glow, I rushed into a second marriage, moving abroad with a man I barely knew. Soon after, the mask fell: he was a narcissist, far more controlling than the first.

This time, I wasn’t just silenced as a woman; I was also a mother, isolated in a foreign land, with no family or friends to lean on.

For almost four years, I endured threats, minimisation, and control. Until one day, something shifted. The Goddess within me rose. I gathered my daughter, walked away, and broke the cycle.

Since then, my voice has been my compass.

• I filed my own divorce petition, and it was approved.
• I applied for my independent visa, despite two denials and one court appeal, I won my right to stay.
• I entered mediation with my daughter’s father, determined to find healthier ways of communication.
• And I’ve shown my daughter, time and again, that Mama never gives up.

My voice is not only mine to reclaim, it is also my daughter’s inheritance.

For too many generations, women were told “calladita te ves más bonita”, which means: “you look prettier when you’re quiet.”

Silence was mistaken for virtue.

But I refuse to pass that weight to my daughter. She has witnessed me using my voice in court to defend her, in mediation to create healthier communication, and in daily life to claim our dignity.

Every time I speak up with courage and truth, I break another link in the chain of generational silence. My daughter grows up knowing that her voice matters, too, not just as a tool for survival, but as a birthright for living fully, freely, and unapologetically.

Yes, I have fallen. But I have also risen, each time stronger, wiser, and more certain of the beauty I can create when I dare to use my voice.

Today, I know my voice is not a weapon, but a gift. A force that breaks silence, heals wounds, and inspires others to rise.

My voice is my superpower.

And it matters!

Kizzy Petit

Reflection for You, My Reader:

Where in your life have you silenced yourself?

What would shift if you allowed your voice to rise again (not in rage, but in truth, in courage, in love)?

I invite you to pause for a moment, put your hand on your heart, and whisper:

“My voice matters”


And say it again, until your body believes it.