Nobody to Somebody: Finding Voice on the Page

For most of my life, I carried the weight of feeling like a nobody. Not the kind of invisible you joke about when no one notices your new haircut, but the kind that digs into your bones. The kind that whispers you don’t belong, that your story doesn’t matter, that your voice is too small to be heard.

I grew up believing my experiences weren’t worth telling. When hard things happened, I buried them. When my world broke apart, I convinced myself I had to stay quiet because who would care anyway? That belief became so familiar it felt like part of me. Silence was the shield I carried into adulthood.

But silence can only hold so much.

When I first sat down to write I’m a Nobody, Are You a Nobody Too?, I wasn’t trying to become an author. I wasn’t chasing a dream of book tours or bestseller lists. I was just trying to breathe. Writing was survival. It was a way to spill out the memories that had been pressing against my chest for years, the kind of memories that wake you in the night and don’t let you go.

The words didn’t come easy. Some days they poured out in a rush, leaving me shaky but lighter. Other days, they refused to come at all, and I stared at the blinking cursor until my own thoughts turned against me. Writing about trauma felt like peeling back skin that had barely scarred over. Every sentence was both pain and release.

And yet, something unexpected happened as I kept going. In the middle of scribbled notes, deleted paragraphs, and drafts I wanted to throw away, I started to hear something different. Beneath the old voice that said, you’re a nobody, another voice began to rise. A voice that said, keep going. This matters.

It was in the small moments that I noticed the shift. Finishing a chapter I thought I didn’t have the strength to write. Letting a trusted friend read my words and hearing them say, “This needs to be shared.” Realizing that even if only one person connected with my story, it would be worth the ache of writing it.

Each of those moments chipped away at the lie I had carried for so long.

Writing didn’t make me “somebody” in the way the world often defines it. There was no spotlight, no instant validation. Instead, it did something deeper. It gave me back my voice. It turned “nobody” into someone who dared to speak. Someone who dared to tell the truth. Someone who believed that maybe, just maybe, her words could reach another soul who felt unseen.

The journey hasn’t been neat. I’ve sent queries to agents and sat in silence, waiting. I’ve faced rejection that stung more than I expected. I’ve battled impatience, wondering if my book will ever find its home. But I’ve also learned that this is part of the process. Writing a book isn’t a straight line. It’s a messy middle full of doubt, grit, and moments of quiet courage.

And still, I keep writing.

Because here’s what I’ve discovered: being “somebody” isn’t about recognition. It’s about courage. It’s about showing up for the page even when the words come slow. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other, even when the ground feels unsteady.

My book is still in process, but I already know this: I am no longer a nobody. I am a writer. I am a truth-teller. I am a survivor who found her voice on the page.

And if you’ve ever felt like a nobody too, maybe this is your invitation to pick up the pen, to speak your truth, to believe that your story matters more than you’ve been led to believe.

Because it does.

If you’d like to step into this journey with me, you can read the first chapter of I’m a Nobody, Are You a Nobody Too? here:
newleafcoachingandconsulting.org/nobody