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The last post was a little insipid for me and my soul. It didn’t actually say entirely what I wanted it to say. Which is deeply ironic. This is why. Here is the post I should have written.

Yesterday I realised I’d found my voice. Weird statement to make, huh? Well hence the title of this post. So I’ll repeat, yesterday I found my voice, I heard it in my ears for the very first time and heard myself speak with my voice. I’m not, for the record, talking about that spirit-jerking-out-of-your-body hideous moment when you hear your recorded voice and instantaeously develop six new neuroses that you never knew you had. Nor am I talking about intuition, or invisible friends. I shall hereby now try to explaineth 😉

Speak-with-love (google images)

Speak-with-love (google images)

I was brought up by traditional parents, under values most of which seem antiquated nowadays. I was put to bed before dinner parties and would silently read myself to sleep. I had to ask permission to interrupt any conversation and ask permission only once; more was simply not worth it. I had to ask permission to use the home phone and was only allowed to speak for some minutes before being told to hang up. I was encouraged to speak quietly in public so’s not to impinge on anyone else’s day. I never answered back and never swore (still never do) in their company. Whether it was meant to be the learning or not, I learnt that noise was rude and silence respectful.

I grew up as a child who never spoke out. I was the one who always cast their gaze down at the desk, hoping that it made me invisible and unlikely to be chosen to answer anything. I never argued with anyone, I didn’t see the point and I didn’t want to be rude if I liked the person. Don’t get me wrong though. I did drama and choir and later became a teacher. I wasn’t silent or (eventually) shy. I just chose context very very carefully. But it affected the way I speak.

I was/am/in transition away from being queen of coming up with an adequately scathing nastiness about half an hour after the event and the person’s gone. If I feel I have to speak in anger, my voice distorts into some granular sandpaper quality. If I am stressed, I sound as if I’ve literal blocks in my throat that I have to push past to speak. If I am happy, my voice echoes my childhood lexicon and tone. I’ve known in my head and my heart what my actual voice sounds like, it’s just as though it’s been submerged under layers of conditioning for so long, I never thought I would speak in it.

For those of you who have read any more than a couple of my posts or my ‘About’, you will know I’m on here finding my own feet in lots of different ways. It means I may come across as not entirely coherent or knowing, but I am okay with that. I’m not saying that will change either. But I have realised something. This blog is now my written voice, it is as close to my truth as the world can see (open-hearted, cheesy jokes…). And last night, the spoken word matched it. I spoke softly and truly. It was a coming home and a whole new world all in the same breath. There was no guard, no measure, no tailoring, no distortion. Just me and my sound.

I don’t expect many people to like this post or even get it. But if you do, I hope your sound brings you as much peace.

…Now I just have to find it again after a busy day at work!! hahaha.

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