Rising My Journey From Silence to Strength

6 days ago
3 min read

Updated: 5 days ago

By Meagan O'Nan

Growing up in Mississippi, I learned early on how to win - on the court, on the field, in the weight room. I was a dominant athlete, a National Strength and Conditioning All-American, and that identity came with a kind of protection. People respected me. I was celebrated. I fit a mold that was culturally accepted, even admired.

But under that strength, I was hiding something.

Athletics gave me power - but it also gave me cover. My talent allowed me to sidestep questions about who I was outside of sports. As long as I performed, no one asked too much. And I made sure to keep it that way. I stayed silent about the part of me that didn’t fit - the part of me that was gay.

In my world, queerness wasn’t just misunderstood - it was judged, rejected, feared. So I did what many of us do: I learned how to be who people wanted me to be. I kept my voice down, kept my image clean, and kept my truth buried beneath hustle and high performance.

For years, I thought that was enough.

But silence has a way of eroding us from the inside. What began as a strategy for survival slowly became a prison. I found myself shrinking in relationships, avoiding vulnerability, and living in constant fear of being found out. The strength people saw on the outside masked the turmoil I felt within.

And then - everything shifted.

I was outed before I was ready. My truth was exposed not through courage, but through violation. It was one of the most painful moments of my life. But strangely, it also became the beginning of my liberation.

Because once my truth was out, I had a choice: run back into hiding, or stand tall in who I was.

I chose to stand.

That decision changed everything.

It didn’t make things easier - not at first. I lost people. I faced whispers, judgment, and the ache of being misunderstood. But something else started to rise within me. For the first time, I wasn’t living a double life. I wasn’t calculating every word, every expression. I could finally exhale.

And in that exhale, I found power.

Speaking up didn’t just free me - it began to heal me.

I realized that truth-telling is one of the most courageous things we can do. Not because it guarantees applause, but because it makes wholeness possible. It allowed me to love more deeply, connect more honestly, and live more fully.

The world teaches us that strength looks like silence, control, and invincibility. But I’ve learned that real strength lives in vulnerability. It lives in the moment you tell the truth even when your voice shakes. It lives in the decision to choose authenticity over approval.

Today, I speak and lead with that truth. I help others navigate the space between fear and freedom - the middle ground where transformation lives. I’ve discovered that our stories, when shared bravely, have the power to unlock healing not just for ourselves, but for others.

To the woman still holding her breath, afraid of what the truth might cost: I see you. I know how heavy the silence can feel. But I also know what waits for you on the other side.

You don’t have to wait for permission.

You don’t have to be ready.

You only have to be willing.

When you speak up, you rise up. And when you rise, you create a path for others to follow.

That’s what it means to be unstoppable.

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