Great – Now I’ve Lost My Voice

Last week my daughter missed four days of school with a nasty cold and surpise, surprise, it has been my turn this week. After the fever, the brain-splitting headache and the chest-rattling cough, the final indignity came today when I lost my voice. Actually, I wish I had, fully, lost my voice. I’m still able to communicate, but only in a weird, hyper-aggressive shouting whisper that scares small children, causes birds to fall mid flight and even makes statues weep.

It sounds that ugly.

Times like this remind us how central the voice is to identity. I’ve often defined myself in terms of speech and the way people respond to it. Growing up, learning to tame, then control my accent was first a path to social acceptance and then a weapon. Along with the chameleon-esque accent, the command of vocabulary and an at-times hard to tame wit are some of the clearest markers of who I am.

When the voice is gone, so are those things. It still shocks me, though maybe it shouldn’t, who frustrating that is – struggling to be heard, understood and… …well… …respected. It’s very revealing (at least to me) how differently people treat you when your voice is suddenly weak, indecisive, non-authoritative.

Maybe we should be wondering about voice-ism?