Photo by Matt Botsford on Unsplash

If I could get the proper licensing and permission, I would have included a picture of Ursula the witch from The Little Mermaid reaching toward Ariel’s throat to take her voice in exchange for life on land.

In the late summer, early fall in 2013, I had a condition that threatened my voice. Vocal Cord Dysfunction. It was originally misdiagnosed as simple allergies and I had to fight hard to get a correct diagnosis. What started as a sore throat turned into my vocal cords spasming on me six or more times a day despite my best efforts to keep these attacks at bay.

Both bad air and bad food would trigger these attacks. I had to be extremely mindful of how I breathed, breathing mostly through my nose, and sometimes exhaling through my mouth. If contaminants got in my throat, such as smoke, perfume, cleaning chemicals, spicy or fatty food, or anything acidic, I would have an attack. In order to reduce my attacks, I had to radically change my eating habits. I had to exercise a lot and be extra careful about my breathing during workouts. I could barely talk without triggering an attack. I most definitely couldn’t sing.

Is Singing Really a Big Deal?

I’m not one of those people who has ever given a singing career any consideration, but for myself, it has been something I enjoy. I was in choir from 5th grade through high school. I was a blender. I could blend with just about anyone. Richen their own voice while lending little credence to my own. I was just loud enough, but not too loud. I did my part to make the choir look good.

Singing on my own, I passed the time. I sang along to the radio. I dabbled on the guitar. Wrote a song here and there. Sang quietly to myself at the bus stop as a way of passing time. That was gone. It may not have been much, but I missed it. When I started to get better and discovered I could sing a little again, I was glad. I’m not about to set up a YouTube Channel showcasing my vocal talents, but I can open my mouth again without immediate fear.

Nursing My Other Voice

My other voice, my writing voice was largely silenced in a different way. This was far more tragic to me. And it happened with a lot less flair. Technically, I wrote all along. I wrote content for other people and businesses and scrubbed my name and personality off of everything, leaving nothing behind. I tried scraping up minutes to journal or scribble down a few lines of a poem.

I tricked myself into believing the words written for content writing mattered on a personal level, but they were and are written for money. They are rearranged facts in simple language designed to sell someone else. There is nothing wrong with that. It is what I signed up for. Making a living as a writer. Beats the corporate cubicle life any day.

If I was too tired to write personal things, I put my creative energy into making jewelry with beads. I enjoyed it a lot. I made pieces with no metal, so I could wear some myself, despite my allergies to any metal on my skin.

The need to write ached. I started blogs but didn’t follow through for long. I finally got a place to express my voice and be heard.

I am beyond grateful to have a place for my written voice. A place to be heard. But even in that place, I sometimes fear silence. I am grateful, but I can be critical. I ask questions. I offer suggestions. I look for ways to grow. I am here for the choir, but sometimes, blending in and disappearing into the whole is not enough. Sometimes, I want the solo.

I worked hard to get my voice back. I don’t want to be silenced again.