The Courage to Communicate

Lessons in Healing, Boundaries, and Bravery

Communication.

At a recent ALTA (Aggie Leadership Training Academy) session, we focused on communication. One of our first exercises was to answer the prompt: “Communication is _______________.”

Some participants leaned toward definitions like transmission or expression, but the words repeated by multiple people were: vital, crucial, critical, essential. By the end of the day, it was clear: communication is everything. It’s interwoven into every aspect of our lives.

And yet, one question from the facilitator stuck with me:
“How many of you have had any formal training in communication?”

In a room of 30+ leaders and learners, only one or two raised their hands.

If it’s that essential, why aren’t we learning how to get better at it?

Written Words and Early Courage 

Over the years, I’ve always felt more comfortable with the written word than with verbal communication. One of my earliest, most courageous moments with communication happened in fifth grade. I made my dad a Christmas gift: a poster that said, in bright bubble letters, “Please stop smoking.”

It was my ten-year-old heart speaking through construction paper. A bold ask. A heartfelt plea. My first real moment of bravery.

(And yes, he eventually did stop smoking. And with the money saved from all those cartons of cigarettes, he bought me my first ten-speed bike!)

And, our story ended up in a Chicken Soup for the Soul book! )Read about it here: Life Lesson from the Bike: Smoking & Gifts of the Season

“Use Your Words” 

Fifteen years later, I was visiting a friend when her daughter burst into the room, sobbing. She was truly upset, but we couldn’t understand a word through her tears.

With calm and compassion, my friend gently said:
“Sweetheart, you’re okay. Use your words. I can’t help you if you don’t use your words.”

That moment brought tears to my eyes.
Why had no one ever said that to me?
Why hadn’t I learned that?

This isn’t a criticism of my upbringing; it’s a reflection. If communication is everything, why don’t we teach it in middle school? Or better yet, in kindergarten?

The Brave Conversation

Flash forward another two decades. I was navigating a difficult but necessary conversation with my therapist.

We’d been working together for six weeks. She was a bridge for me, helping me move from burnout toward balance. She gave me time, tools, and space to heal. She also passionately voiced her negative opinions about online learning and remote work.

Which happen to be central to my life right now.

I’m committed to living authentically, and my gut knew it was time to move on. Still, I didn’t want to ghost her. In the past, I would have avoided the discomfort altogether—canceled the next appointment and disappeared. Or I’d fawn. People-please. Rehearse the exchange in my head over and over, worrying about how she’d react.

That used to be my pattern: bury my truth until resentment bubbled up and I couldn’t even speak through the tears.
But not this time.

This time, I chose a new pattern. I chose communication.

I kept the appointment. I showed up. I spoke from my heart. I was honest, clear, and kind. I said the thing that was hard to say. I practiced communication.

The outcome?
Profound.
Beautiful, even.

She apologized. She acknowledged her bias. She expressed her gratitude and told me how much she loved working with me. She respected my boundary. We did a meaningful closing exercise reflecting on how far I’d come in just six weeks.

And she named it. She said, “Today you used your voice. You set a boundary. You were brave.”

And for the record? That’s when I teared up.

Breath. Boundary. Bravery.

When I reflect on this healing journey of these past weeks, I see a mosaic of intentional healing. Energy work. Acupuncture. Massage. Chiropractic care. Time with friends. Dreaming with my husband. Writing. Writing. Writing.

And yoga. Hot Bik-Yasa yoga.
An hour in the heat. The same sequence, every time. Slow, then fast, then slow again. The lights shift. The music rises and falls. The room gets hotter and hotter. Through it all, we’re reminded to stay with the breath. To find calm in the chaos.

What we practice on the mat, we carry into the world.

One breath. Inhale. Exhale.
One boundary. Spoken, honored.
One brave choice. At a time.

 

©2025 Lori Ann King