The Voice You Die With

Why avoiding your voice is the most dangerous thing you can do.

There are very few things in life you can count on.

People will leave—marriages will end, friends will move away, children will grow up—and identities will shed like old skin. The world will change around you. Money will come and go, happiness will ebb and flow. Life will happen, and as it does, almost nothing will stay the same. 

But you do have one thing that will never abandon you: your voice.

When I say “voice”, I don’t mean it in the literal, vocal sense. I’m talking about the full expression of nature's intention for you.  The inner force of truth. The part of you that knows what matters, and what doesn’t. The internal compass that has tried, again and again, to point you toward the life only you can live. 

That voice is not a luxury. It is not a side project. It is your lifeline.

And it is the only thing you can be guaranteed to die with. Not your bank balance. Not your partner. Not your curated identity or polished brand.

You will die with your voice whether you used it or not, whether you honored it or abandoned it, whether you shaped your life around it or spent your years suppressing it to fit in or to please others or to maintain the illusion of control.

You die with yourself. And your voice is your most essential self.

When I did death work with Wilka Roig in Mexico, something landed in my body I had always intuited but never faced directly: we fantasize about dying surrounded by loved ones, but in truth, death is solitary. Even if your family is in the room, even if the morphine is flowing, even if someone is reading poetry to you as you go… the path of death is walked alone. 

The only question you need to ask yourself is: When you inevitably take that path, will you be proud of the life you walked to get there? Will you be proud of how you listened? Of how you spoke? Of what you chose to create and put out into the world?

Avoiding your voice is not about a missed opportunity. It is a betrayal.

Every time you abandon your voice for something else—to remodel the kitchen, to climb the corporate ladder a little higher, to wait for more money, more time, or more clarity, to defer to someone else’s opinion, to do what’s safe or strategic or socially accepted—you reinforce a life built on avoidance. You cultivate a self built on performance. You leave a legacy built on silence.

Research tells us that the most common deathbed regret is this: "I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me."

Your voice is how you live that life. Not just outwardly, or for others’ benefit, but inwardly, too. Because your voice doesn’t just shape your work. It shapes how you know yourself. It is the most direct line to your inner world, your truth, and your sacred, natural blueprint.

When you avoid your voice, you are avoiding your life. When you abandon your voice, you abandon the only self who can truly walk with you to the end. But when you use your voice—even in imperfection, even in fear—then you live true.

The final moments

I have always been one to think often about dying. Not in a morbid way, but more as a grounding practice. I think about who I will be while in the process of meeting death—not just in the moment itself, but in the days and weeks where everything else begins to fade and only truth remains. I think about how it will feel to look back on my life. 

And I know—with bone-level certainty—that if I have been faithful to my voice, I will die in peace, because that is the only relationship I will still be in. 

I want to meet myself in that moment with love, pride, and awe.

I want to be able to say: You listened. You tried. You showed up. You didn’t abandon me.

Writing Prompt: The Voice You Die With

If this idea stirs something within you, I encourage you to take some time to sit with it and see what comes up. Maybe find a quiet place, a sanctuary where you won’t be disturbed, and set a timer for 15-30 minutes. Then imagine this:

You are dying. Whether in a hospital bed, on a mountainside, or somewhere unexpected, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are alone. The people who love you may be nearby, but the door is closing, and you know that this next part must be walked alone.

In that moment, you realize your voice is with you. It speaks. It remembers. It reflects.

Write a conversation between your current self and the voice that has walked with you your whole life.

What does it say to you now? What does it thank you for? What does it ache for? What does it wish you had done?

Let it speak. Then answer it. You may be surprised by what you hear.