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Last week I told you about the breath I’d been holding for 39 years. The one that finally released in the Costa Rican jungle when I stopped trying to escape and let myself feel what I’d been running from.

This week? I’m going to tell you about what happened after that breath left my body. Because here’s the thing about releasing what you’ve been holding – it creates space for something new. Something you didn’t even know was waiting.

For me? It was my voice. My actual, literal, singing voice. But we’ll get to that.

First, let me tell you about the coffee.

One early morning, I went to fill my water bottle with the delicious herb-infused water they had at the retreat center. As I walked past the kitchen door, I spotted something magical out of the corner of my eye. A coffee maker. And it had coffee IN IT.

The reaction my body had to seeing that carafe was visceral. Like spotting an oasis in the desert. Like finding your person in a crowded room.

I grabbed a mug off the shelf by the kitchen door, walked to the threshold, and with the biggest puppy dog eyes held out the cup with a quiet “gracias.”

Maybe those beautiful ladies who cooked our delicious food had seen me curled up in the fetal position with that awful migraine. Maybe they took pity on me. Either way, they filled my cup to the brim.

I took that cup down to the Talari River – the pristine, rushing river that runs through the Finca Mia retreat facility – with the biggest smile on my face. I sat on a big boulder, sipped my coffee, and took this picture:

That river became my sanctuary over the next several days. It was where I spent hours doing something that brought me more joy – and more terror – than I’d felt in a long time.

Singing.

Here’s what I didn’t tell you last week: The retreat I went to wasn’t called “Relax in Paradise” or “Find Your Zen” or any of those gentle, soothing names you see on most retreats. It was called Expressions.

And this is all I knew before I signed up: “Each of our retreats are designed to take your soul through the full arc of the transformation process, weaving through a dynamic interplay of shadow and celebration. Be prepared for more of an expedition than a retreat.”

Yep…I can testify, hand on heart. This was NOT your typical retreat. This was most definitely, an expedition. One that took me on the wildest ride of emotions I’ve experienced in…well, maybe ever.

And part of that expedition? We were each required to have one full song memorized before arriving. A song we’d sing in front of real, living, breathing humans. Humans that could hear.

I was driving to work one day when my peeps (my angels and guides) showed me the song I needed to sing. It came as a memory. Me and my sister Denise as kids, doing dishes together and singing at the top of our lungs. Our number one song was always “Oh Canada” because we were CONVINCED we were going to be asked to sing the national anthem at the Tigers hockey games one day. Still waiting for that call, by the way.

But the other song we sang – the one that came flooding back to me in the car that day -was “Love Can Build a Bridge” by The Judds. I immediately downloaded it on Spotify and started practicing. Every single day on my way to work and back home. Over and over until the words were etched into my memory.

Once I felt comfortable again after my breakdown in Costa Rica (last week’s story), I found my spot. A beautiful place amongst the boulders in the Talari River where I could sit and practice.

The loud rushing water and dense trees surrounding me gave me the comfort of knowing no one could hear the cracks in my voice. The shake. The uncertainty. I sat there for hours, singing to the river. To the trees. To myself. Getting ready for the moment I’d have to do it in front of actual people.

The masterclass portion of the expedition was led by Maryn, and I have no words for what I witnessed other than: UNREAL.

This is Maryn leading our beautiful friend (and owner of Finca Mia), Michelle on her vocal masterclass.

One by one, people got up to sing their song. And then Maryn worked with them – each with unique techniques – to help them REALLY find their voice. Not just the singing voice. The voice that’s been maybe quiet their whole lives. The voice that’s been waiting for permission to be heard.

You could see it in their eyes when it happened. In their bodies. In their energy. When they found their voice, it was like a door was unlocked and flown wide open. I sat there for hours watching this transformation happen over and over again. Amazed. Inspired. And absolutely terrified that it would soon be my turn.

There was no order to when we did our songs. It was whoever felt ready. My hand didn’t go up until almost the end. I was TERRIFIED with a monster-sized T.

Even with all the talks I’d had with my peeps by the river….”please give me courage”, I asked them over and over. Even with all the practicing. Even knowing I’d just released a 39-year-old breath and survived it.

I was still scared.

But I also knew something else: I wanted to sing FOR them, not TO them. I wanted my new friends to feel the words in this beautiful song about love building bridges. About how we’re not meant to walk this world alone. About how connection – real, vulnerable, authentic connection – is what heals us. I wanted them to feel that. So I raised my hand.

As I walked to the front of the room, I felt…awkward. Normally when I do my lip sync concerts in my kitchen (yes, I still do those), I have a whisk or spatula in my hand as my microphone. Some kind of prop to hide behind. This time it was just me. And my voice.

I sang. I sang like I’d never sung before.

The words flowed. My body relaxed. I could feel the room holding space for me the same way Nikki and Maryn had held space for my tears just days before. And then I got to the end of the song.

The part where Wynonna belts out: “Keep believin’ in the POWER!”

That high note. The one I’d practiced a hundred times by the river. I opened my mouth to hit it.

And…nothing. Well, not nothing. A squeak. A baby squeak.

The note was stuck somewhere. Maybe in kindergarten when Miss Kraft worried about my shyness. It was stuck.

Maryn walked to the front of the room to join me.

“It’s time to find your power,” she said quietly.

And then she guided me. Hands on my body. Voice in my ear. Showing me where that note lived. Where my power lived. Not in my throat. In my body. In my bones. In the place where I’d been holding that breath for 39 years.

I tried again. And again. And again. And finally….I hit it.

Not just hit it – I belted it.

“Keep believin’ in the POWER!”

And I felt it. A giant door unlocking and flying wide open inside me. My voice. My actual voice. The one I didn’t even know I’d been silencing. It was there. It had always been.

Here’s what I want YOU to know: We ALL have this ability.

I witnessed over 20 people from all walks of life unlock this same door. Find their voice. Release what they’d been holding.

This isn’t about singing (though that’s a beautiful way to access it). This is about understanding how powerful your voice truly is. What it’s meant to do.

We’re not meant to keep it inside. To hold it down. To make it small. We’re meant to express ourselves. Share our voices. Our stories. Our love.

Even when it’s scary. Even when we think we can’t hit the note. Even when we’d rather hide with a spatula. Especially then.

So here’s my question for you:

What note are you afraid to hit? What’s stuck somewhere in 5th grade? Or kindergarten? Or that moment when someone told you to be quiet, to not make waves, to keep it down? What would it sound like if you finally let it out?

You don’t have to go to the Costa Rican jungle to find out. You don’t have to sing in front of people (unless you want to). But you do have to be willing to unlock that door. To find where your voice has been waiting. To release what you’ve been holding so you can finally express what’s been trying to come through.

This is the work we do in OVARA.

Using our voices. Not just speaking words, but truly expressing what’s real, what’s true, what’s been waiting to be heard. We hold space for the cracks. The shakes. The notes that don’t come out right the first time.

And we celebrate when that door finally flies open.

We’re all finding our voices together – one brave note at a time.