A Voice

There was a time where my voice was hoarse, nearly all the time. My medical doctor explained it away due to the nature of my job; singing opening & closing songs in my kindergarten classroom, reading aloud stories in my animated voice and projecting across the room to a room of squiggly, wiggly little ones. I remember having him look down my nose and throat, a rather uncomfortable procedure, and noticed polyps that had developed in my throat. He said I should not raise my voice, sing or whisper. Ha! I thought, he hasn’t seen me teach! Those items I do on any given day, multiple times.

I had read Christiane Northrup’s book, Women’s Bodies Women’s Wisdom searching for answers to this lack of “voice” and to gain a better understanding of myself. I am probably one of the only women in America that read this 776 page book cover to cover, much like a normal person would do with a novel, not a women’s health book. According to Northrup, women’s bodies have seven energy sources known as “charkas.” The 5^th charka lists several organs but the ones that seemingly pertained to me during this time period were my throat and trachea. A chart in her book mentions the mental and emotional issues involved in this charka being communication: expression vs. comprehension, timing: pushing forward vs. waiting, and will: willful vs. compliant. This was interesting as I struggled in my marriage and wrestled with myself. When was I supposed to be a submissive wife? When do I stand up for my children, students or myself? I had no voice and a husband who, though he tried in his way, could not comprehend my struggle. What was the big deal? Why didn’t I just go along to get along with his line of thinking and reasoning?

My personality changed over the years, slowly corroding my essence, my very being. My ability to write and speak was lost. I was becoming a zombie as I forged ahead. Sure, it would emerge, mainly in moments of parenting with my children or teaching my students. Building forts in the family room, silly dancing and make-believe or lovingly tucking my children in at night with stories and prayers and recapping the days highs and lows helped me keep pieces of myself intact. Witnessing magical “ah-ha” moments as a student grasped concepts or sharing in the absolute beauty of building relationships with these kids also helped me hang on. But somehow I still became lost over time and knew I was struggling and couldn’t quite put into words what it was…

To begin this part of the story, I need to describe a dream I had. In this dream, my ex-husband and I were eating dinner at a couple’s house. For some reason we had to run back to our own home and get something we had forgotten.

I entered our bedroom and was standing near the sink of our bathroom. In my dream, my then-husband crept behind me and began to slowly stuff a dark sock into my mouth. I was trying to talk, scream, and cry out for help. I could not get any sound out. In this evil nightmare, he laughed at me. His intent was to kill me. I was dying trying to speak.

Now I am not a dream interpreter. But who could miss the analogy in this very vivid dream? I was, in fact, dying to speak. In fact, in my seventeen years of marriage this dream was the only one I can remember. It was so disturbing I can recall it now nearly seven years after the fact.

This year I went to the doctor for a check-up and he looked down my throat in that same uncomfortable manner. You know what? Those polyps are no longer there, sure there’s a little scar tissue, but they are gone. In that time period I have taught kindergarten, fifth and sixth grade. I’ve sung, I’ve projected, I’ve whispered and God knows, I’ve been animated. What is the difference? Well, I’ve changed. In those seven years I have asserted myself, I’ve learned to speak up, to say what I think. I am no longer with that man who did not allow for questioning and discussion and disagreements, even when voiced in a civil manner, and certainly not when voiced with a swear word interjected (or two). I have learned to allow myself to speak up, to write, to allow the voice to be heard. Whether I am sitting with friends at dinner, partaking in family discussions or voicing my opinions at staff meetings, I speak up now. I have a voice. I have something to say, whether you agree or disagree is no matter to me. I will share my thoughts, thank you very much.