When You Lose Your Voice
In my opinion, one of the strongest pieces of advice you can give someone whose struggling in life is to remind them they have a voice. Being true to yourself in the words you express, saying what you mean and meaning what you say proposes a great path towards authenticity. I’ve been known to tell my children many times over the years that finding your voice is a good rule of thumb. That is, unless you’ve literally lost your voice.
As I type this column, it’s the Monday following Thanksgiving weekend. We hosted somewhere around 35 people for dinner, including 15 little ones ages 10 and under. Then on Saturday, we hosted a surprise 60thbirthday party for my sister who is a very favorite person to all who know her. It was a very fun weekend. Because these two occasions represented celebration in full bloom, you can imagine I didn’t want to miss a moment.
There was only one problem. I had the worst case of laryngitis I’ve ever had. In other words, I had no voice.
Imagine a bustling kitchen filled with people so happy to be together. Everyone wanted to catch up. “What’s new? How’ve you been? Did I hear you took a trip this fall?”
To all these questions and every other conversation starter, for the most part, all I could do was smile, wave, and make that cheesy heart sign with my hands. The few times I tried to eke out some sort of spoken contribution, all that came out were croaks and squeaks that landed somewhere between the back of my throat and the other back of my throat. In other words, my ability to speak was next to nil.
Contorted faces of those trying to decipher my inaudible screeches were worthy of a Saturday Night Live comedy sketch. Can’t you just see it? Heads tilting to so that ears futilely tried to hear my nothingness. Furrowed brows and the repetitive “huh’s?” left me quite aware that I just needed to stop the hoarse madness. The squinting eyes trying to lip read in the middle of the mayhem were perhaps the best. Honestly, it became quite funny.
Not being able to talk for such momentous gatherings meant I was forced to do the opposite, which meant I was left with no other choice than to listen. Many times, we hear, but not all the time do we listen. This weekend of celebration without a voice offered a lesson for me. I was able to take a step back as I heard others express gratitude at the Thanksgiving table. Not once could I interject or add my own addendum to their expressions. Then, I could do nothing other than listen to others toast my sister with love and admiration on a night dedicated to her. I didn’t really need to speak words of affection for her that evening. She already knew how much I love her.
As I reflect on such great memories, I realize the second most important piece of advice I can give to one who is struggling is to remember to listen. Listening invites curiosity. Listening breeds compassion. Listening expands narrowmindedness. There’s also a gentle presence in one who listens. Think about the last gatherings you attended. It seems there always someone who cuts you off, hijacks conversations or can only respond with something like, “when that happened to me…” Contrast that with the art of listening where space between us can grow in wonder and respect.
As I type, my voice is still quite raspy. However, without a voice I can honestly say the heightened opportunities for listening have left me with so much to say. Thank goodness I can still write.