Finding My Voice
If someone found me through a video, a song, an image, or one of my crazy creative ideas, they might think they already know a little about me.
They see the smile.
They see the island girl.
They see the sass.
They see the faith.
They may see me singing, creating, laughing, speaking up, or putting together something completely new because another idea popped into my head.
And all of that really is me.
But it isn't all of me.
There is a woman behind those posts who has lived enough life to understand that a smile can carry a story. I have spent a lot of my life creating.
Sometimes with my hands. Sometimes with voice. Sometimes with words. Sometimes with music. Sometimes with an image that starts as nothing more than an idea in my head.
For a long time, I don't think I realized how connected all of those things were.
Now I do.
Creating is one of the ways I speak.
When something is difficult to explain, I may write it.
When words don't feel like enough, I may turn them into a song.
When I want someone to feel something, I may build an image or video.
And when something needs to be said louder, Ive learned that sometimes I need to stand up and say it.
That part of me didn't appear overnight.
There were seasons of my life when being quiet felt easier. There were pieces of my story I carried privately. There were times I questioned my worth, my direction, and even where I belonged.
But somewhere along the way, the woman who spent so much time holding things inside started finding her voice.
Not all at once.
Piece by piece.
And my faith has been woven through those pieces.
My relationship with God hasn't always looked perfect or traditional. Sometimes faith has been church. Sometimes it has been prayer. Sometimes it has been sitting quietly and talking to God when I didn't know what else to do. And sometimes it has simply been trusting that there was still something ahead of me when I couldn't see it yet.
My Guam roots are another piece of me that I carry wherever I go. The island is more than where my story began. It is part of how I see beauty, family, strength, humor, food, music, connection, and home. That island girl is still here.
So is the woman who loves a little sparkle.
The woman who can be serious one minute and completely playful the next. The woman who will spend hours creating something because she can already see in her head what it could become. The woman who wants children protected. The woman who wants silence broken. The woman who wants somebody sitting alone somewhere to know that there are people willing to listen when they are ready to speak. And yes—the woman who believes broken pieces can still become something beautiful.
That is why so many of the things I create may look different on the surface but still feel connected.
My advocacy.
My music.
My writing.
My faith.
My Patchwork Angels work.
My videos.
My stories.
Even that little red phone that keeps appearing in my world—my direct line to God. They are pieces of the same woman.
Me.
I'm still becoming her.
I'm still learning.
I'm still healing.
I'm still creating.
I'm still laughing.
I'm still discovering parts of myself I thought I had lost somewhere along the way.
And maybe that is what I want this blog to become. Not a place where I pretend to have everything figured out.
A place where I can bring the pieces.
The beautiful ones.
The funny ones.
The painful ones.
The faith-filled ones.
The island ones.
The messy ones.
The strong ones.
And perhaps when I put my pieces on the table, someone reading will recognize one of their own.
If you came here from TikTok, welcome.
The videos may show you a moment. The blog is where I'll tell you the story behind it.
Come as you are.
There is room here for your pieces, too.
— Michelle, Pumpaloa G7 ❤️
The videos show a moment; the blog tells the story behind it. What would you like to hear more about in a future post from Michelle?
Michelle invites beautiful, funny, painful, and messy pieces to the same table. Which part of yourself do you wish people made more room for?
'Still becoming' leaves room for growth without pretending the past disappeared. What are you giving yourself permission to keep learning?
Finding a voice happened piece by piece rather than all at once. What makes a community patient enough to welcome that process?
The little red phone is a memorable symbol of connection with God. What simple object or image would represent that connection in your own story?