Finding My Voice

 I'm told I came into this world with quite a voice. My arrival was not a quiet one: I burst into my earthly existence over a month early, causing many medical concerns about possible issues with my lung development, among other things. But, seconds after birth, the story goes that I practically deafened the hospital room with my screaming as the doctor half-smiled and said to my parents, "Her lungs are fine!" As the months progressed and sounds turned into words, stories abound in my family of a constant stream of talking and singing and anything that involved my voice. Apparently, in the beginning, I had no trouble speaking up, expressing myself, sharing my vivacious spirit and my thoughts with the world. As I grew up a bit, that morphed into conversation and interest in people. Whether it was calling up the bakery to reserve some bread for us to pick up or walking up to speak with others at church or social settings, I had no difficulty using my voice. 

But then, somewhere along the way, it all changed. 

Something shifted. 

I shut down. 

Maybe it was the feeling that I had things within myself that I had no words to express or that, if I did say them, they wouldn't be received or understood. Maybe it was the pressure to be someone that I wasn't in order to fit it and be accepted. Maybe it was the attempt to put a free spirited girl into a clearly-defined world and expect her to thrive while instead, she was dying inside. Maybe it was the lack of spiritual direction. Or the sense that her life was unique and she felt rejected on the basis of that. Maybe it was the critical voices that got in my head. Or the painful feeling that I was too much or not enough, depending on the situation. Whatever the reason, I lost my voice. Not literally, but I lost my ability to speak my truth and authentically show up for my life. 

I became really adept at hiding. I tucked away the parts of myself that I'd been told were "a problem." I masked my biggest questions, silently wrestled with my greatest fears. I went through my teens and part of my twenties as a shell of the little girl I'd once been. I thought that I had to outgrow her in order to be relevant, failing to realize that that passionate person within held the greatest key to my success and impact on the world. Then one day several years ago, I woke up the realization that I had to reclaim that voice. Discover a new one if necessary. Because I could not go on living this way any longer. The inauthentic life had lost its appeal for me. Thus, the journey began. 

Written and spoken words of others who found their own voice began to give life and a road map to me finding my own. I started to write. To speak, ever so hesitatingly. Eventually, to post and upload and publish and spread my voice all over. This blog, my podcast, my social media, my published work is the fruit. But it all started with a quest to get back to being that person who flew into the world with something important to say and started shouting it literally as soon as she took a breath. To stop being afraid of putting my voice out there and to remember that the message is the most important thing, not the messenger. To stop making the story about me and instead, to direct it to the One who gave me life in the first place. 

I hike along a lake's edge, fall colors in full. And my ears pick up on the raspy sound of this year's baby birds learning the song of their kind. I pause. A smile graces my face as I realize that they are finding their voice, and so am I. We're all figuring out how to sing our unique song in this space called planet Earth and some of us are just learning later than others. Congrats to the ones who discovered it sooner but for those of us who are still finding out what that looks like for ourselves, it's okay to squeak and rasp and fail along the way. The fact is, our voice matters all the same. There is something important only we can say. We just have to walk our own path toward figuring out what it is. And there's plenty of Grace for that too.