Growing up, I was pretty self-conscious about my voice. Red would spread across my cheeks when people made comments about it, and I often went through my days with my head down, hoping no one would bring it up.
I learned far younger than most kids I knew to be ashamed of myself.
I've been asked, by adults and children alike, whether I know my voice doesn't sound feminine, whether I smoke cigarettes, have a cold/laryngitis, scream too much, or hit puberty too soon.I can't even begin to tell you how many people have mocked my raspy voice or asked me tactless questions.I even had a grown man tell me that no boy would like me because of what I sound like...I was 10 (and that's just one story).
Looking back, it baffles me just how insensitive people can be at times. Kids I can excuse, but adults honestly should have more sense. I wish I'd had thicker skin then, but even if I had, I'm not sure those comments would have hurt any less.
Despite the mostly harmless intent, I couldn't let the opinions of others go. My parents tried to comfort and encourage me, but this wasn't going away, despite how much they wanted it to. It came down to a choice. I could spend the rest of my life concerned about what everyone thought, or I could rise above it. While easier said than done, I chose the latter sometime in my fourth-grade year. I realized that I couldn't let this impact my life as it had for so long. Each new person, new school year, new team, new camp, and new place posed this exact problem.
Once I decided that I would be proud of the way I sounded, I finally found my "voice."
It was a quiet transformation, but a powerful one nonetheless. I slowly grew to stand tall and face others. I no longer allowed the words of others to make me feel inferior. In moments when it got to me, I reminded myself of that joyful moment when my parents first heard my voice after being told I may never speak.
How could I take for granted a gift I had almost been deprived of?
Now 18, I am passionate and outspoken. I find strength in my values and will fight for what I believe in, making the voices of others heard whenever I can. I try my best to advocate for those who can't find the courage to do so, because I was once a shy little kid, afraid to speak at all, much less to speak up for myself.
I'm proud to have the voice that I do. I've had countless people tell me that they couldn't imagine me without it. It's become intrinsic to my identity and belief system. Of course, there are moments when I wonder what it would be like to have a regular voice, but I think it's taught me to never treat someone differently over something they cannot control.
I once heard the phrase "If they can't fix it in 10 seconds, keep it to yourself," and I can't think of a better way to put it.
I will always remember the little girl I once was, shy and sweet, but fearful of judgment.
The little girl that spent minutes drinking water and clearing her throat in class, hoping that her voice wouldn't break when she was called on.
The little girl who dreaded loud social events, because she would never be heard.
The little girl who had to learn to be patient long before others did.
The little girl who didn't always speak her mind, but had lots to say.
That kid and this voice have shaped me to be the person I am today.People still comment and question, but I've learned to just be better. Despite the occasional urge to fake tears and elicit remorse, I'm mostly understanding.I'm still human, but so are they, so I try to remember that. It would be a lie to say that words don't sting sometimes (because they do).
But, each time I raise my hand in class with confidence or laugh at the shifts in my pitch, I feel a sense of stillness, knowing that I will never again allow my voice, something that gives me strength, to make me feel small.
