Girl, You Cute

Last March, I was sitting on a panel at The Power of Her Voice Award, an annual gathering I created to celebrate and amplify specially women of color who are using their voices to lead, inspire, and create lasting change in their communities. Held during Women’s History Month, this event honors courageous women who have broken barriers and spoken truth to power.

During the discussion, an audience member stood up and asked a poignant question:

“What would you tell your 12-year-old self if she were sitting here with you today?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Girl, you cute.”

These three words carry immense meaning for me. They remind me of the decades I spent experiencing body shame, racism, and the kind of cultural silencing that teaches young Black girls to shrink themselves for safety. These words remind me of when I was mocked in elementary school, laughed at when my hair puffed up after picture day, and when I was called “fat” and “stupid” in Catholic school, where speaking up often led to humiliation. They also hold the quiet devastation I felt after standing outside a movie theater for hours, waiting for a boy who never came.

But these same three words also hold my healing. And today, after more than 15 years as a licensed therapist specializing in trauma and cultural silencing, they shape how I practice therapy.

The 4 F’s of Trauma Response: Cultural Silencing and the Body

Keisha came to me for therapy presenting with anxiety. She’s 32, professional, polished—and she apologizes reflexively, even when she’s said very little.

In our first session, she sat perfectly still with her hands folded in her lap. After just seven minutes, she said, “I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

As a trauma-informed therapist, I recognized that Keisha’s repeated apologies were not a social habit, but a freeze response, a nervous system adaptation shaped by prior experiences of needing to stay small to remain safe. I gently communicated this observation to help her feel seen and supported.

“Keisha,” I said, “I’ve noticed you’ve apologized several times, and we haven’t even begun yet. Many Black clients learn early that taking up space isn’t safe. You don’t need to apologize here.”

She froze. Then her eyes filled with tears.

“I didn’t know I was allowed to be anything else,” she said quietly.

What Keisha was experiencing is cultural silencing, a phenomenon that lives in both the body and the mind. It often aligns with the four trauma responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. For many clients of color, these responses are not isolated reactions, but longstanding survival strategies.

Keisha’s dominant response was fawn. She’d learned to stay agreeable and non-confrontational to remain safe, especially at work.

“When I think about speaking up in meetings,” she told me, “my heart races and my throat tightens. Sometimes it’s easier to say nothing.”

Before doing any cognitive work, I needed to help Keisha’s nervous system feel safe enough to engage.

“Your voice is tied to your nervous system,” I explained. “If your body doesn’t feel safe, your voice won’t either. That tightness in your throat isn’t weakness, it’s memory.”

We began with some regulation exercises: grounding, paced breathing, and orienting to safety. As Keisha’s body softened, I asked a question.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is ‘I never express my true thoughts’ and 10 is ‘I consistently speak my truth,’ where are you today?”

“About three,” she replied.

“Your silence makes sense,” I told her. “It helped you survive. The question now is whether it still serves you.”

Identifying the Story Beneath the Silence

Keisha arrived for our second session looking more grounded, her feet planted and posture upright.

“I want to understand where you learned it wasn’t safe to speak,” I began.

“At work,” she replied. “I’ve been called aggressive for disagreeing. I’ve been told to calm down when I wasn’t upset.”

“What belief did you form about your voice in those moments?” I asked.

“That if I speak up, I’ll be seen as the angry Black woman. That I have to stay small to stay safe.”

Next, I decided to use some cognitive behavioral therapy in order to name the automatic thoughts driving her behavior. Disagreement triggered fear and shame, which led to silence—which came with its own costs.

“What has that cost you?” I asked Keisha.

“My confidence. My relationships. My ability to ask for what I need.”

Why Solution-Focused Work Matters

After several weeks of identifying Keisha’s automatic thoughts, I intentionally shifted to Solution-Focused Therapy. In my clinical experience, many clients of color face barriers that make long-term therapy difficult or impossible, so I prioritize approaches that help clients access strengths quickly and leave therapy with tools they can use independently.

Solution-Focused interventions center on what is already working. They identify exceptions, track progress, and repeat success—skills that remain useful even if therapy is brief.

Each week, I asked Keisha where she fell on the voice scale. By week seven, she was at a 5. By week eight, she’d reached a 5.5.

“I set a boundary with my mom,” she said proudly.

By week nine, she’d slipped back to a 5.

“My mom guilt-tripped me,” she said.

Instead of analyzing the setback, I asked a question.

“When you were at a 5.5,” I said, “what did you do differently?”

“I paused,” she said. “I took a breath and told her I couldn’t talk about that topic at the moment.”

“That’s your formula,” I said. “You already know how to do this.”

 The VOICE Recovery Framework

To help Keisha apply her formula consistently, I introduced my VOICE Recovery Framework, a step-by-step tool I developed that integrates nervous system regulation, cognitive awareness, and intentional expression.

VOICE stands for:

V – validate the emotion (What am I feeling?).

O – observe the story (What am I telling myself?).

I – identify the need (What do I actually want?).

C – choose the response (How do I want to show up?).

E –express with integrity (How can I speak with love and power?).

Before her next difficult conversation with her mother, Keisha wrote out her process. The following week, she returned to therapy looking energized.

“I did it!” she said. “My heart was racing, but I said everything without apologizing once. And my mom actually listened.”

Only then did we examine the belief that had predicted rejection.

“You spoke up,” I said. “What actually happened?”

“She got upset.”

“And were you rejected?”

“No. She stayed.”

“That’s new evidence!” I said. “Discomfort isn’t the same as rejection.”

 Sustaining the Voice

By month three, Keisha had made steady progress. However, sustaining this progress required returning to nervous system awareness.

“There will be moments when silence returns,” I told her. “That doesn’t mean failure. It means your body is remembering.”

Soon after, Keisha asked her boss for a raise—and received it.

“I spoke for 50 minutes without apologizing once,” she said. “This is who I am now.”

“Where are you on the scale?” I asked.

“An 8.”

 What “Girl, You Cute” Really Means

When someone has spent decades being told she is too loud, too much, or too Black, the most radical intervention isn’t assertiveness training, it’s safety.

“Girl, you cute” isn’t about appearance. It’s about worth. It’s about belonging. It’s about reclaiming space.

The VOICE Recovery Framework integrates trauma-informed care, nervous system regulation, cognitive insight, and Solution-Focused practices into a roadmap for healing cultural silencing. We aren’t just treating symptoms. We’re restoring voice. To the 12-year-old girl with the wet hair: Girl, you cute. To Keisha—and every woman like her: Your voice matters. And to the clinicians reading this: You already have the tools. Now you have a framework.