Tag: Finding My Voice

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Finding My Voice, by Gillian

Finding my voice has never been difficult for me. Finding it when I should be losing it is what has always been my problem. From my early school days on, if a group of us were somewhere we should not be or doing something we should not do, I was always the one who got caught. My voice just naturally carries, so even if no-one witnessed our misbehavior, someone was sure to identify my voice and name me as one of the otherwise unidentified miscreants.

For a shamefully long time I failed to learn from this the obvious advantage of keeping my mouth shut! I was a fount of firm opinions, and rarely failed to voice them. This led to many arguments, a considerable number of which I lost because I tended to find my voice without the necessary accompaniment of engaging my brain. Later I would often ask myself, why on earth would you say that? What in the world were you thinking? I failed to answer myself, as I should have, by saying, that’s the problem isn’t it? You were not thinking.

I added to my difficulties by consistently finding my voice when I was angry; and if there ever is a time to lose your voice, that is it. But no, my voice would be off, seemingly of it’s own, volition, speaking whatever words it wanted without reference to me, and most certainly not to my brain which remained silent except occasionally to mumble indistinctly and very sotto voce about big mistakes and future regrets. I could not begin to count how many times I was forced into abject apologies the following day. (I can never decide whether this means I completely flunk steps 8, 9, and possibly 10 of Alcoholics Anonymous, or possibly I have already completed them with flying colors. Suspecting the former must be why I doggedly remain absent from AA.)

However, despite my lack of assistance from AA, I did eventually accept that I needed to change my ways, and for this I needed help. I turned for this to Spirituality. I have been especially blessed in my efforts to follow this path in that my Beautiful Betsy accompanies me. Finding your way along an unfamiliar and often difficult trail is always easier with a companion rather than having to go it alone – especially when that companion is also your soul-mate and the love of your life. Together we have read many books, joined Spirituality groups, listened to CDs and watched wonderfully articulate guests on Oprah’s TV series, Supers Soul Sunday.

One of the early books we read, though more self-help in general than Spirituality, contained simple advise I have never forgotten. Remember to ask yourself from time to time, the author says, why am I talking? I find this the ultimate relaxation tool for group situations. Can’t get a word in? Not familiar with, or no interest in, the topic? Relax. Just listen. You have no need to talk.

I have become a much more peaceful person, both for others to be around and within myself, since I started down the path of Spirituality. Anger is almost a thing of my past, and when it does overcome me at least I no longer find my voice, at least until I have thought through what I really need to say and how I need to say it. I don’t mean to make it sound easy. Given our current socio-political situation in this country, I struggle with the extent to which I should in fact control my anger. I know that in theory I should negate the anger and replace it with calm, positive, action. But is there never a time when anger is justified? Ah, I still have a lot of work to do. Spirituality, like so many things, requires eternal vigilance. And that, in turn, requires something so important to you that you never question the need to pay it constant attention. I have found that in Spirituality. I never intend to go back to the days of finding my voice when I should be losing it.

© October 2017

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty years. We have been married since 2013.

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Finding My Voice, by Ricky

When I was a baby, I had a voice and I used it often when I was awake and hungry or wet and hungry or smelly, wet, and hungry. Did I mention that I used it often at that age? The wailing I used as my voice was rewarded with attention, dryness, and food. It served me well for a few months when I realized that I needed a new voice. So, I switched from simple wailing to irritating screaming combined with sobbing, sniffling, and whimpering. I was well on the way to training my parents to cater to my every whim.

I accelerated their training schedule when I added cooing, giggling, and laughing to my repertoire of sounds my voice could use. These were most effective in keeping my parent’s attention when combined with smiling.

They seemed easier to train when I began to teach them some of my language. It is truly amazing just how fast they learned to repeat after me words like: goo-goo, gaa-gaa, didy, wa-wa, ma-ma, da-da, and poopy. My greatest failure in their training program happened when I was two-years old. For some reason, my parents just could not understand the concept of “NO!” when I said it to them. I noticed just how frustrated we became when we realized that they just did not understand the meaning even though I tried to teach them the meaning at least 20 or 30 times a day. By the time I was three-years old, they finally understood and the level of frustration between us nearly disappeared.

After their training disaster when I was two, as I turned three I realized they were to long out of the womb to learn any more of my language. Since I was smarter and younger than mom and dad (no brag, just fact), I decided to just give up and learn their language instead of keeping myself frustrated by their failures. Communication between us then became clearer and life at home became more fun.

I became increasingly comfortable with my voice and everyone I interacted with seemed to like it also. That is, until I attended first-grade at the Hawthorn Christian School. Don’t religious teachers of non-religious subjects in a private Christian school have to obtain state certification to teach children? I guess not, because my first-grade teacher apparently had no understanding of child development and curiosity and desire to avoid doing things to displease adults. One day, a boy said a word the teacher did not like and had him come up to the front and put a small square of soap on his tongue. She then called two other boys up and did the same thing. Now, I had heard the word but did not know if that was the problem word. I wanted to know what the word was for certain, so I could be sure not to say it and get in trouble at school or at home. Therefore, I raised my hand and when called upon I asked, “What word was the problem word?” The teacher said to never mind. (I guess she did not want to teach, just for us to listen and obey). I then responded, “Was it ‘shit’?” (Not my smartest question.) Whereupon, she had me come up and put the soap on my tongue. I was so scared of my parents finding out and of the soap, my mouth went completely dry. Thus, the soap never dissolved on my tongue and her lesson was lost on me, much to my relief. Fortunately, after second-grade, I was off to public school in Minnesota and out from Christian school domination. This event marks the precursor display of my innate, and soon to be developing, smartassyness.

Since my father had taught me that human excrement was called “ish”, it was several years later that I learned the correct meaning of “shit”. Even when I was living on my grandparent’s farm for two years, I never heard that word. Grandpa and my uncle always referred to cow manure. My grandma did use the word “ish”, but I could tell she was giving it a completely different meaning.

In December of 1958, I did lose my voice for two-weeks due to laryngitis. When the soreness departed, I found my voice was a new voice. It was different, and I did not like it at first. It felt a bit rough due to the laryngitis I suppose, and I wanted to “clear my throat” all the time, but it didn’t help. I seem to be caught between a low tenor and a high bass when I sing, and I don’t do much of that. So, this is my voice now and I’m sticking to it.

© 23 October 2017

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com