As a senior in high school I got bronchitis. It was awful. Not only did I spend a week in bed with a fever and aches, missing out on activities, school and friends, I lost my voice. I remember trying to communicate, but nothing would come out. Important things could be said in a whisper, but it was so much more difficult to be heard.
I like talking; I’m good at talking. I can talk fast; I can talk about almost anything with just about anyone. I’m an extrovert. Being around people, sharing passions and quality discussions fill me up, it recharge me.
In my tween years, my father, who owns his own business, bought and installed a phone line straight into my bedroom because his clients couldn’t get through; I was tying up the line.
(It also could have been that my parents didn’t name my brothers or myself after my father because he grew up as his father’s namesake never knowing when someone said “Joe” who they wanted. Trouble is my friends shortened my name to Jo, so when someone called and asked for Joe it wasn’t clear who they wanted either. I think it bothered him.)
Anyway, in the days before cell phones, having your own phone line was cool.
In the case of my bronchitis, my voice came back rather quickly. After a week of quarantine I was back to my old self. And just like was expected, I was chatting it up about important stuff and not so important stuff – things were normal.
Actually loosing your voice is hard, but it’s short lived.
Loosing your inner voice, the one that communicates from your heart, that’s much more difficult. And it’s much trickier to notice. It doesn’t just disappear one day. It’s a slow fade. You talk and it feels like you’re not being heard.
I think I started talking around issues. They usually say your strength is also your weakness. So for me, I could say everything, but how I truly felt. So I wasn’t really saying anything. I was still talking, but I wasn’t communicating. I wasn’t saying what my heart felt, I was spouting out a bunch of mind blubber.
I found myself felling alone, even when people who loved me surrounded me. I felt disconnected and distant. I didn’t feel like me. But I couldn’t put my finger on why, or what it was. Then someone asked me how my writing was coming. It wasn’t. I wasn’t writing at all.
Writing helps me find my voice. Sometimes I don’t even know how I feel until I write. So I’m going to stop talking and start writing. Thanks for reading.
Have you ever lost your ability to say what truly matters? How did you get your voice back?