Listening Beneath the Noise: Helping Clients Hear Their True Voice

Listening Beneath the Noise: Helping Clients Hear Their True Voice

"I should have figured this out by now."
"I always mess things up."
"I just need to be more disciplined."

When a client speaks these words, they can feel like the truth. But more often than not, these phrases don’t come from our client’s authentic voice. They’re echoes. Echoes of caregivers, of culture, of conditioning. Echoes of survival.

Like a river, the brain follows the path of least resistance. Every time that story is told, the deeper the groove it carves. It becomes the route the nervous system knows best.

A trauma-informed coach learns to notice when these internalized narratives show up. Hold space with them. Gently. Invite curiosity, which will help a client begin to hear their own voice beneath the noise.

Understanding Internalized Narratives

People shape us. So does media, culture, religion, and so many other sneaky places. These influences shape what we believe about ourselves. 

For many clients, especially those with trauma, core beliefs are formed not from truth but out of necessity. Beliefs that were needed to belong. To stay safe. To survive. 

These beliefs often take root quietly and early. Repeated again and again, these thoughts create familiar patterns in the brain, especially when they’ve helped us stay safe. After a while, those patterns feel like truth, not because they are, but because they’re practiced.

You might hear them as:

• “I have to earn rest.”
  
• “My needs are too much.”
  
• “I’m too much.”
  
• “I have to put everyone else first.”

In trauma-informed language, this is sometimes called introjection: when external expectations or judgments are internalized as our own. But we don’t need to name it clinically. We just need to notice its shape when talking to clients.

It shows up when a client sounds exhausted but pushes through. When “I should” takes over from “I want.”  

We don’t shame that voice. We get curious about its origin. These voices aren’t the problem. They were protective. Think of these beliefs like well-worn shoes. They may not be comfortable, but they are familiar. The brain and body return to them not because they’re right, but because they’ve been walked in so many times before. These voices help us adapt. But they aren’t always true. Even when they’re spoken with conviction.

Creating Space for the Client’s Real Voice

Here’s the nuance: these borrowed beliefs often feel like the client’s voice because they’ve been rehearsed for so long.

So rather than challenging them outright, we ask:

“Where did you learn that?”
“Whose voice does that sound like?”
“How does it feel in your body when you say that?”

These aren’t rhetorical. They’re invitations. Invitations to notice the lineage of a belief and hold it with care. 

Clients are often surprised to be asked. We assume our beliefs are simply ours. That’s just how things are. 

Sometimes, a client won’t be ready to answer. That’s okay. The power is in the pause, the wondering, the space to even ask.

Not everything that feels true is your truth.

What This Means for Our Work

The instinct to reframe or guide a client toward a new belief is strong. We want to be helpful. Especially when we see clearly how untrue or unkind a narrative is. But when the nervous system feels overwhelmed, it’s hard to take in new information. Safety makes space for change. 

When we move too fast, we risk missing the wisdom of the voice we’re hearing. The belief helped the client survive something hard. It got them through. Going slow helps the nervous system feel safe enough to explore something new.

So instead, we slow down.
We stay curious.
We attune to tone and tension.
We hold silence with trust.

We affirm the brilliance of what the client once learned and the possibility that something new is now available. We don’t need to rush. Growth that honors your client’s pace is more likely to stick. 

This is slow work. But slower is often faster.

When a client feels safe to question these voices, really understand them, they begin to build the muscle of discernment. From there, change becomes possible. Sometimes insight arrives quickly, but integration takes its time. Both are welcome.

Our job isn’t to replace the voice. It’s to help the client remember they have one.

A Liminal Pause

Take a moment.

What’s a phrase you often say to yourself, especially when you’re stressed, behind, or uncertain?

Where might that phrase have come from?

And what might it feel like to ask yourself, with tenderness:
Whose voice is that?

You don’t need an answer today.
Just the courage to ask.
That’s where healing begins.