A CODA's Journey Through Fear
Have you ever felt that gentle whisper calling you toward something bigger, but the spotlight made you want to disappear?
Picture this: A quiet interpreter, deeply focused on my work in the school system, content with being the bridge between worlds – just preferring to do it without drawing attention to myself. That was me. Every day, I'd be there, fully committed to helping students communicate, pouring myself into service – just preferring to stay in the background.
The turning point wasn't a dramatic scene; it was a quiet stand for what I believed in. As an interpreter, I found myself increasingly being asked to step beyond my role, to do things that weren't what I was hired to do. Something didn't sit right. While others might have simply complied, I chose to advocate for staying by my students' sides, maintaining the boundaries of my role that I knew were essential for their success.
Going against management isn't easy. Each conversation, each moment of standing firm in my convictions, felt like walking on shifting ground. But something unexpected emerged from those challenging discussions; a clarity about my true calling.
It started with a conversation with my coworker. Sitting there, sharing my growing sense of purpose, I confessed something I'd barely admitted to myself: "I feel called to teach sign language." The words hung in the air, and I braced myself for doubt or dismissal. Instead, I found understanding and encouragement.
Later, I had the same conversation with my husband, again expecting cautionary warnings about leaving a stable job. But once more, I found only support. It was in these moments of vulnerable sharing that the fear kicked in – not because of resistance, but because of possibility. When you run out of reasons to say no, you're left with only your own fears to face.
You see, it wasn't about reluctance to serve; I loved being an interpreter, loved helping others bridge communication gaps. But stepping into a teaching role? That meant becoming visible in a whole new way. There's a difference between standing firm behind the scenes and stepping into the spotlight by choice.
The same conviction that helped me advocate for my students now pushed me toward something new. Just as I had stood firm in maintaining professional boundaries, I needed to stand firm in pursuing this new direction. The skills were there, but that whisper of 'something more' kept getting louder. You know that feeling when everything looks perfect on paper, but your heart keeps tugging you toward something bigger?
So there I was, facing a choice: stay comfortable in what I knew, or step into something completely unknown. The same courage that helped me stand up to management now needed to help me stand up for my dreams. I chose the unknown. I quit my job.
That first class? Packed full. As I stood there, preparing to teach rather than interpret, I felt the weight of all those eyes on me. But this time, it was different. This visibility wasn't thrust upon me – I had chosen it. My hands might have trembled slightly as I signed my first greeting, but my conviction was steady. Each student's eager expression reminded me why I had taken this leap.
One class led to another. Then came Nita's Silent Hands, born from the same spirit of advocacy that had started this journey. Our community needed more than just classes – it needed a movement. Each step demanded more of me, pushing me further into the spotlight I once avoided. The organization grew, and with it, my responsibility to lead visibly and boldly.
But here's the truth about stepping into your calling; growth rarely comes without growing pains. As Nita's Silent Hands expanded, so did the challenges. Just like those early days of standing up to management, I faced resistance and doubt. Board members stepped away. Friends who knew the old, comfortable me struggled to understand this new direction. Each transition tested not just my leadership, but my conviction in the path I'd chosen.
But something had changed in me. That same determination that helped me advocate for my students now helped me advocate for myself and my vision. That same fear that once made me hesitate became my compass. Because I learned something powerful; fear isn't always telling you to stop; sometimes it's pointing toward exactly where you need to go.
Standing here today, I can't help but smile at how life unfolds. That moment of standing firm in my convictions, every difficult conversation, every full classroom, every nonprofit challenge; they weren't just experiences. They were preparation. Preparation for something I feared most but was destined to do: sharing these messages of accessibility, leadership, and courage with others who might be standing at their own crossroads of fear and purpose.
Remember: Walking in fear doesn't mean living in fear. It means letting fear guide you to opportunities others miss. Because sometimes, our greatest fears lead us to our greatest purpose.
Your next chapter starts with your next decision. What will you choose?
