A Sound That Resonates

Hearing Yourself

I’m about a year and a half into this chapter—my second time building something of my own—and I think I’m finally starting to hear clearly again. Not just the noise of to-do lists or deadlines, but something deeper: the sound of my own voice coming through with confidence, purpose, and ease.

And it reminds me of another season in my life—when I first moved to New York City to study musical theater in the early 2000s. That was a magical time. I had big dreams and a full heart. And yes, maybe some naive optimism. But the thing I remember most clearly is this:

Have you ever sung in a stairwell just to hear your voice echo back?

There’s a moment when the note you hit bounces off the walls and back into your ears—just you, and the reverb of your own bravery. You’re not performing for applause. You’re not waiting for permission. You’re singing because something in you refuses to stay quiet.

That’s what this moment feels like again.

Back then, I would sing on sidewalks, rooftops, in empty black box theaters. But as I stepped into corporate spaces, worked alongside athletes, advised leaders, and collaborated with teams, that part of me quieted. I was still showing up powerfully—but I wasn’t singing.

Now, as the founder of a company that teaches leaders to speak up, communicate clearly, and own their voice… well, I can’t exactly sit this one out. If I’m going to teach others to step into the spotlight, I have to be willing to walk into the light myself. And the truth is: the song hasn’t gone anywhere.

It’s just been waiting for me to sing it again.

The Song Wouldn’t Stay Quiet

Once I acknowledged that, I couldn’t un-hear it.

The melodies came rushing back—except this time, they weren’t actual songs. They were stories. Lessons. Messages. Truths I’d been holding on to that were finally ready to be shared. Some were things I’d never said out loud. Some were ideas I’d been workshopping for years. Some were experiences I knew would help someone else feel seen, even if they weren’t always easy to tell.

What surprised me most wasn’t just how much I had to say—it was how good it felt to say it.

There was power in naming the lived experience of being a founder. There was clarity in speaking honestly about the moments that shaped me. There was momentum in recognizing that the more I shared, the more it resonated.

People wrote back. They commented. They reached out. They said, “This one hit.”

That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just me documenting my journey. This was me finally stepping into the role of conductor. And I had an orchestra to lead.

The Categories Are an Orchestra

Once I started writing regularly, really writing—not just creating content for the sake of showing up, but speaking from experience—I started to hear patterns. Not just echoes, but themes.

I asked myself: What do I know with certainty?
What stories have I lived, not just learned?
What am I no longer willing to whisper?

These categories weren’t theoretical—they were personal. They were the distinct melodies that had been waiting inside me, and now that I had the confidence and clarity to conduct them, they rose to the surface like a full arrangement of instruments tuning up before a show.

Each one represents a deep truth that I finally feel free to share. Not because someone gave me permission, but because I stopped waiting for it. I’d held myself back for years. I knew how to read a room, smooth a moment, say the “right” thing. I also knew how to stay quiet when something I said might rock the boat.

But now?

Now I’m conducting this orchestra.
I get to shape the sound.

And these are the sounds I trust:

• My founder’s voice is the steady brass—clear, grounded, and deeply earned. I’ve walked through enough pivots and plateaus to speak on leadership without needing to rehearse it first.
• My surprising perspective brings a rhythm of fast truths—unexpected but unmistakable. It’s the voice that says, “What if we looked at it this way instead?” Not to stir things up, but to get to the heart of what’s real, faster.
• My stories of what I learned the hard way carry the tension and tenderness of strings. There’s depth in those moments, and I share them not to relive them, but to offer them up in service of someone else’s shortcut.
• My reflections to my younger self are the woodwinds—soft, wise, and sometimes wistful. They remind me of how far I’ve come, and how powerful it can be to write toward someone just a few steps behind you.
  
  

This isn’t a batch of posts.

It’s a body of work.
And now that the instruments are in tune, the harmony is unmistakable.

I Built My Own Concert Hall

Of course, an orchestra needs more than a conductor—it needs a place to perform.

For me, the breakthrough wasn’t just finding my voice. It was creating the space where that voice could resonate. I didn’t find the perfect ecosystem—I built it. I didn’t wait to be discovered—I designed the concert hall.

And yes, it’s still me playing multiple instruments sometimes. I’m the first violin and the drummer and the one balancing the tambourine while tap-dancing in the back. But I also have something I didn’t have before: support.

My husband Shane is a co-founder in this mission—he’s the stage manager who keeps the operation running so the performance can shine. His eye for architecture, for systems, for how things work has given structure to what I feel. That’s the kind of duet I never take for granted.

We don’t always hear the full sound when we’re rehearsing. But we trust the audience is out there. And when the moment comes, we’re ready.

OK, Let’s Play

If you’ve been feeling like your voice has been stuck in the stairwell, here’s your cue to come out and sing.

Ready: Start by listening. What themes are echoing back at you? What’s the note that keeps playing in your mind?

Set: Map your categories. What are your truths? What can you speak on with earned authority? How can you create a system to support your own voice?

Go:

• Don’t settle for being the background music in your own career.
• Build your own concert hall. Share what’s real.
• Create harmony by speaking with clarity and care.
• Let the resonance be your guide.

This Is Your Song

Somewhere in the middle of all this writing and organizing and harmonizing, I kept hearing Elton John’s voice float into my head:

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song…”

It stayed with me. Because that’s what this is, really.

It’s not just a blog. It’s not just a brand voice exercise. It’s not just a strategy.

It’s a sound that resonates.

And if you’re reading this—it’s you. You’re the one I wrote it for. You’re the one who’s been walking your own journey, maybe singing in stairwells, maybe waiting for your voice to echo back in a way that finally feels like home.

I hope this helps you hear yourself a little more clearly.
I hope you know your voice is worth listening to.
And I hope—like me—you let the music play.
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Hey there! I’m Blair Bloomston, author of UPLIFTED WEEKLY and your friendly consultant, facilitator, and game-based educator on-call, bringing a passion and penchant for all things play (I’m also alliteratively all-in). As the founder of Leaders Uplifted, I help leaders like you tap into creativity, connection, and confidence to make work feel less like a grind and more like a game. Keep reading with me— I’m here to be your business best friend. Let's go!