Losing my voice

From Webster's Dictionary: Definition of voice: an expressed wish, choice, opinion or verbal utterance.

Have you ever had one of those mornings in which you wake up, just knowing that Murphy's law will prevail? In addition to a series of unfortunate mishaps, complications and life frustrations, I discovered that I had lost my voice completely, thanks to a rougher than average allergy season. The sounds I can make sound vaguely like squirrels quarreling in a nearby tree. Either that or my squeaks resemble a person repeatedly stepping on a mouse. My rodent verbal qualities have led my dogs to turn their heads sideways to try to understand my commands. This experience has made me wish I had taught the dogs hand signals. "Sit" and "stay" simply do not carry the same power when my Donald Duck voice is giving the order. Above all, losing my voice just hurts. My throat is very painful, and I have been living on hot tea, Chicken Soup and Chloroseptic spray. Unfortunately, none of these remedies have made it easier for me to communicate with my family and friends, as well as my pets. I have been gesturing passionately (and only understood about half the time) and using a big, yellow legal pad to write out my comments.


The sad fact is: I'm a talker. I can speak until I'm almost asleep, and as my husband can attest, I can even continue to talk once my eyes are closed if I'm really motivated on a subject. Being able to express myself has never been an issue for me. Learning to know when to keep quiet has been a much more difficult skill for me to master. Tact, listening and mindfulness are all part of my journey in becoming a true 'adult'. My father used to tease me that I couldn't eat without talking. We had experiments night after night in which I had to try to learn to keep peacefully quiet. I failed miserably.


That being said, not being able to speak has proven to be quiet different than having a self-regulated time of not communicating. I have had to learn what it is truly important. Since none of us know Sign Language in my family, I've had to save my painful squeaks for truly urgent comments, and other than that, I've had to decide if what I want to say is really worth writing down....or playing Charades...to get my message across. I've discovered that most of my chit-chat is ridiculously meaningless, and if I can hold on to my thought a little longer, I may not need to use half a sheet of lined paper to express every sentiment that enters my train of thought. While I can't say that this has been a "Road to Emmaus" experience, I am learning that most of what I say doesn't need to be said. It's a sad and harsh realization, but it's certainly been eye opening for me.


Not having a voice has also given me more time to contemplate communication. Since I can't communicate directly, losing my voice has proven an invaluable metaphor for what I know happens to millions of women around the world every day. Many women do not have the same kinds of freedoms that we have here in the western world. They are silenced and beaten into submission. Their voices, even ones that can speak articulately and from a well educated perspective, aren't valued. The poorer women simply face death on a daily basis by not having a voice that is heard at all. Their thoughts, their feelings, their very lives are considered valueless. One of my favorite authors, Khaled Hosseini, was greatly celebrated for his book, "The Kite Runner", which was later made into an extraordinary, award winning movie. But, his second book, "The Thousand Splendid Sons" relates the plight of interrelated women, and the struggles they share. They unite to find a common voice, but being heard doesn't come without grave consequences. This vitally relevant fictional story, of life under Taliban rule in Afghanistan, taught me to never lose sight of the valuable gift in having a voice that can be heard...even for things that are inconsequential. A woman not having a voice is a dreadful thing for society. The U.N. has issued study after study about nations living in poverty. The studies find that, where women are educated and heard, society prospers. The converse is also true.


Fairy tales, like Hans Christian Anderson's "The Little Mermaid, relate stories about women freely giving up their "voice". In Anderson's tale, Arielle literally gives away her power of speech to try to capture 'the handsome prince'. Yet, fairy tales are rife with women releasing their inner power, their gifts and their strengths in order to gain favor with the men whose attention they hope to capture. I don't believe that fairy tales are bad for children. They do help stimulate creative thought and imagination writing. However, I also believe it's vitally important that we equip our children, boys and girls, with the understanding of respecting the voices of all...men and women, rich and poor, from all corners of the globe. We must instruct them and encourage them to never allow their own voices to be given away to someone else. We must all remember that our opinions, our nature, our beliefs and our ideals are what make each of us unique and valued.

While I have not enjoyed my experience with the loss of my physical voice, I do appreciate the opportunity it has given me to be silent and reflect upon the voices of others. I'm only sorry that it has taken my own yammering to cease to 'hear' them.

The Sound of Silence

"Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in life has a purpose." Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

I have held a number of nicknames over the years that are a testament to my unending desire to fill silences. From Gabby to Chatty Cathy to Big Mouth, most people who know me well have simply learned how to tune me out after a while. The fact is, I love to talk. I love to have conversations, I love to discuss issues and I love sharing anecdotes. I enjoy catching up with old friends or chatting up new ones everywhere I go. I adore laughing, telling jokes (badly), singing (off key) and simply using my voice as an outward expression of my own joie de vivre. I do realize that talking isn't necessarily a good thing. I hope that I appear to be friendly and approachable, rather than insane. And yet, I have to admit that my talkative ways aren't always helpful. Do I talk over people too much, and not listen to what they have to say? Does my own speaking interfere with others' ability to find their own comfort zone? Is my chattiness a gift of communication or is it a nervous habit?

When I first met my (then future) husband's family, I realized how loud I was comparatively. This was a quiet family, and unlike in my own home, conversation didn't power through meal times. If one person had something to say, he said it succinctly, and then there were times of silence. No one was berated for speaking or not speaking. However, my own upbringing of everyone speaking at the very same time seemed raucous in comparison. Instead of sinking into a companionable silence with my future in-law's, I found myself making nervous, endless streams of dialogue throughout meals. I couldn't get a toe-hold into the concept of 'sitting together, eating, quietly.' It simply did not exist in my realm of understanding. Thankfully, I was accepted as a member of the family, even if it meant that everyone prepared themselves for the Hurricane force winds of my conversational ability at any gathering. When I explained my dilemma to my father, he reminded me that not everyone has to say every thought that pops into her head, every moment...and he asked me to try to sit through meals at our own table, quietly listening to those around me. I failed within the first 2 minutes.

As a student in a Quaker founded prep school, we had Quaker meeting, rather than many other boarding school's Chapel time, each week. Quaker meeting, as I described the service to my mother long distance, "was very big on silence". I had been to church services in many denominations, my cousin Jon's Bar Mitvah in a Reformed Synagogue and to many friends' First Holy Communions and Confirmations. All of these services involved singing, messages from the pulpit, responsive prayers and a sense of participation between congregation and leader. Never in my life had I attended a religious ceremony that involved not talking. The deep meaning, in the Quaker belief of my prep school, was that we were to encounter God in the silence, and could stand up and share our feelings, if the Holy Spirit moved us. I struggled with this concept not only during my high school years, but beyond. How could I possibly discover the Divine in silence, when I couldn't sit for five minutes without wanting to whisper to the person sitting next to me?

While I believe I will always have the gifts of the Blarney Stone in my heart, I am slowly gaining in the ability to gain in comfort in silence. This has been one of the most challenging disciplines I have had to learn. Exercising regularly, eating healthfully and maintaining a proper life balance have been relatively easy for me. During a portion of my Yoga Teacher training, I had to spend time in silence. That action almost killed me. I was comfortable in Power Yoga classes and could hold asanas for long periods of time. I conquered my fears of back bends to explore poses like Camel and Wheel. I overcame my nervousness to practice headstands, confident in my ability to maintain my composure in holding my balance. Yet, during the prolonged times of meditation, I found my thoughts drifting back to my high school days of Quaker meeting. I had an overwhelming urge to ask the woman next to me if she had finished her history project or the man across the aisle for a piece of gum. I struggled to retain my composure. I strove to remain outwardly calm while my brain was running an inner monologue at the speed of sound. When I confided my deep ambivalence and inability to my yoga mentor, she just smiled and said, "Ellen, it's not always your job to entertain an audience. Sometimes, it's your job to be the audience."

I took my mentor's words very much to heart. I began to listen more and speak less. I began to schedule times of silence within my day, in which I didn't answer the phone or email (I used to cheat my silence by believing email wasn't talking), didn't listen to television or radio and didn't go out of my way to fill the void. I began slowly....with just five minute blocks of time. This was actually more difficult than it sounds. Five minutes felt like an eternity to me. I was accustomed to filling every waking moment with noise! But, as time increased, and my stamina became stronger, I began to crave my times of quiet. I learned that answers I'd been seeking would simply come to me, if I could just take the time to to shut up and listen for them. I realized, with great shame, that in not allowing others that pause in conversation, I was disrespecting them, and their comfort zone. Most of all, I was missing out on a great many beautiful experiences in life because I was so busy filling those experiences with meaningless chatter.


While I freely admit that I am still far more comfortable in talking than in silence, I hope I have gained some insights along the way. I pray that I honor others with the dignity of allowing them to express their views, without being trampled by mine. I sincerely hope that I have learned to listen with an open heart and a quiet mouth. Most of all, I hope that, if we should meet, you will remember me as the person with whom you could share your thoughts, and not the Tasmanian Devil of Gab.