Finding My Voice: Why Speaking Up Matters

There comes a moment in many journeys—personal or professional—when staying silent feels easier, safer, and far more convenient. And then there comes a moment when silence starts to feel heavier than speaking up. My time in a few professional diving environment brought me face to face with that exact crossroads, shaped by a journey that began in 2010 when I first became a Divemaster. Over the years, I’ve grown within this industry as a Divemaster, instructor, manager, and owner. Working across these roles, often in high‑responsibility and high‑risk settings, taught me that diving is not just about skill or certification—it’s about trust, accountability, communication, and the human dynamics that directly impact safety, learning, and wellbeing

I came into this experience with love for the ocean, respect for diving as a discipline, and a genuine desire to grow. Diving teaches you awareness, responsibility, and trust—trust in yourself, in your team, and in the systems that keep everyone safe. Those values don’t end when you surface. In fact, they matter just as much on land.

When Silence Feels Like Complicity

At first, I told myself to observe, to adjust, to be patient. Maybe this is how things work, I thought. Maybe my discomfort was just part of the learning curve. But over time, I realized something important: discomfort is sometimes your inner compass trying to get your attention.

There were moments when certain things didn’t sit right with me—moments that challenged my sense of fairness, respect, or integrity. Staying quiet began to feel like agreeing. And that was something I wasn’t willing to do.

Choosing to Speak Up

Making my voice heard wasn’t easy. Speaking up rarely is. It comes with fear—fear of being misunderstood, of being labelled difficult, of rocking the boat. But diving has taught me something powerful: ignoring warning signs underwater can be dangerous. The same is true in life.

So I chose to speak. Not to attack. Not to blame. But to stand for what I believe is right.

Speaking up, for me, meant setting boundaries. It meant saying, “This matters.” It meant trusting that my voice, even if it trembled, deserved space.

When Power Masks Itself as Confidence

One of the most unsettling things I became aware of during these journeys were the presence of narcissistic traits operating under the disguise of authority, confidence, or “this is just how it’s done.” Narcissism in professional spaces doesn’t always look dramatic or obvious. Often, it shows up as lack of accountability, dismissal of others’ feelings, control through fear or favouritism, and an inability to self-reflect.

In environments like diving—where safety, trust, and teamwork are non‑negotiable—this becomes especially dangerous. When ego overrides empathy, when questioning is discouraged, and when voices are silenced rather than heard, safety isn’t just compromised emotionally—it can be compromised physically.

The Hidden Cost of Tolerance

Many people tolerate such behaviour because they’re told it’s normal. Because they fear losing opportunities. Because they’ve been conditioned to believe that endurance equals strength.

But tolerance of narcissistic behaviours slowly erodes self‑trust. You start doubting your instincts. You minimize your discomfort. You normalize what should never be normal.

And the truth is this: environments that ask you to abandon your inner voice are not environments designed for growth.

Why Standing Up Matters

When one person speaks up, it creates permission for others to do the same. Silence protects unhealthy dynamics; honesty exposes them. Progress—real progress—has never come from pretending everything is fine when it isn’t. Standing up isn’t about rebellion; it’s about responsibility—to yourself, to others, and to the future we’re collectively building.

Making the World a Little Better

I don’t believe changing the world always requires grand gestures. Sometimes it starts with a single voice saying, “This can be better.” Sometimes it starts with refusing to shrink yourself to fit into spaces that ask you to abandon your truth.

My experience at working with different organisations and running my own businesses reminded me that courage isn’t loud or aggressive. Often, it’s quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in self-respect.

If my story does anything, I hope it encourages someone else to listen to that inner nudge—to question, to reflect, and to speak when silence no longer feels right.

Because a better world isn’t built only by those who are comfortable. It’s built by those who are willing to be honest.

And sometimes, finding your voice is the most powerful dive you’ll ever take.