I Lost My Voice

You may think as a blogger that I have the ability to write and speak into my truth with ease. That self-expression comes naturally and that more often than not, I am willing to share my truth. Though, if I'm really being honest here, sometimes it is a struggle to write what is on my heart and in my mind. That I can come up with a million other things to do. Like cleaning, rearranging my living room or sorting my DVD's alphabetically (yep, did all of those before I could write this blog!) Sometimes in the moments of time and breaths of silence, the best choice of action is to be still. So as I sit writing this in my newly arranged living space, I find that my courage to write has grown, that my willingness is a trust of exploration and that as I share this new layer will unfold before me. 

I Lost My Voice

Voicelessness doesn't suit me, in fact I thoroughly enjoy communicating verbally and when left without words, I feel lost. So when I lost my voice last week, I had to appreciate the doorway into healing. Sure, some may say the voice loss was from a cold or because I've been stressed. Though, I believe it wasn't something anyone could catch, rather it was my physical body representing an emotional block of my holistic self.

The Pattern

 

The situation(s) and person(s) involved need not be mentioned, in fact the details don't really make up how I came to recognize this pattern. Through therapy, healing and this blog, the last few years have allowed me to practice speaking my truth. And yes, I do really mean practice. For years before that (actually as far back as I can remember) I often felt my best choice to confront conflicts in relationships was to listen to what others wanted, set aside what was in my best interest and justify this course of action with, "if the other person is happy, I'll be happy." 

Coping

Though in this pattern, I find that when the pain and hurt become too much, I give in to my silence. I retreated and one of the things I ran to was food. And even though sometimes I still do, food doesn't work the way it used to. It no longer has the ability to cover over what I'd like to ignore. So this weekend, as I was trying to avoid this blog, I leaned into another escape: cleaning and organizing. And though that felt good to get rid of what no longer belongs, it was just another way to try and avoid what really needed to be said.

Retreats are a powerful ally for protection and save me from having to confront a situation I'm uncomfortable in, a coping mechanism I learned early on. But what really happens (and this is a new realization, so please send a little extra love here) in my retreat, there is confusion and this leads to hurt. I don't even provide the opportunity for the other person to be involved in my experience or to understand my perspective, let alone accept or love it. I figure, if I end it first, then I don't have to sit around and wait to be hurt. The self-sabotage bathed me in doubt and this all happened before I could honor my feelings. 

I've functioned (sometimes barely) with this pattern. In fact, by denying the freedom to express, my repression would build up underground, until one day it would all become too much and explode lava of hurt and all the pent up energy would cause destruction. The thing was, I wasn't aware of it. And even though it hurt, I'd keep doing it, because in some way it provided safety. In fact it was so familiar that when it most recently happened, I thought maybe this was how I was meant to live in response to challenging moments in relationships. 

"There's a better way of doing this"

It came as a whisper from my heart, but I didn't listen right away. I wasn't ready to see the destruction, not able to understand what came from my actions and certainly not willing to identify that it wasn't the other person (or persons) that were causing me to feel this way, that it was me. That something inside was needing to be healed and loved and that there could be another way of living and doing this. A shadow in my light and internal knowing allowed this pattern to come forward for me to learn from.

It took time to see that this pattern was indeed something that needed to be healed. In the breaths of silence, I sat still and uncertain. I was so afraid of potential outcomes that may come from me expressing my true feelings that I retreated. Within a few days, I realized my silence was speaking louder my words and it was clear that I reached a point in my journey and I needed to make a choice. (I admit that I am uncomfortable with this, that is sharing a pattern I've held so closely to and known for so long. I admist I'd rather put down the keyboard and walk away. Call it a night, check Facebook or do something, anything than talk about this.)

Even Without Words, There is Hurt

If all things happen for a reason, then this voicelessness is one of them. In the days leading up to it, I kept trying to express myself, though no matter how hard I tried, it didn't feel right. There was a part of me that wanted to provide each detail as to what happened that had me feeling this way. While the other part kept asking for patience and love. And somewhere in the middle I sat.

In the beginning, I made a choice, I chose: SILENCE and so did my body. My unwillingness to express what was as the heart of the matter was actually hurting me and this relationship, more than if I had just been truthful earlier. Frustrated and concerned, I began exploring and praying, hoping to begin somewhere. When I was able to pick up a pen and journal, I realized that my act of silence hurts too. That in fact my wordlessness was creating a situation more complex than before.

 

What I needed was time and patience. Yes, I needed to speak my truth. Yes, I needed to trust that the foundation of mutual respect and love could continue to be built upon. And yes, I needed to learn how to share my feelings, especially in this uncomfortable situation. And that by making the choice to express myself, rather than pushing down the hurt, I realized that no volcano of destruction would errupt.

It became clear to me that what I wanted, more than ever before, was to lead with love in self-expression and to involve the person(s) in this exchange. My silence was the representation of me being careful and intentional. I wanted to protect what had been built. And I wanted to honor my pattern, while allowing myself to release the holds and safety of this out-of-date pattern. And that the only way I would know what outcome would come forward was for me to give it a try. To speak my truth and trust it would be surrounded with love. That only by honoring my pattern would I be able to learn from this experience. And in my act of honesty, I found my voice of self-expression and vulnerability. I found that even with the discomfort, being truthful felt better than being silent.