From day one of my life on earth, I'm pretty sure I had a solid opinion. Some people call that a strong will. From that point forward I've been a thinker, a strategizer, a theorizer about how things work and how they should work. Earning a philosophy degree only solidified that modus operandi.
But culturally, as a middle-class conservative white woman, I learned that my opinion and perspective were only moderately helpful. In groups of other middle-class white women it was appreciated and enjoyed, but with men??? Meh. I found my voice was wanted by children (at least until they hit adolesence), but not by many who were older than me. I also somehow absorbed the idea that a husband didn't need me to speak up in our marriage. I don't know entirely where I got this. My dad is not an authoritarian. My husband was not a jerk. I wonder if it was very subtle theology.
But nevertheless it was in me when I got married, which didn't mean I kept my mouth entirely quiet but was quick to lock it back up if there was any hint of invalidation. I assumed I was the one who was wrong and submitted to the command to ignore my own instincts when it came to my husband's authority over our relational functioning. I didn't fight very hard and kept the superficial peace, somewhat for family-stability sake. I was gentle about my disagreements, quiet about my requests, and isolated in my loneliness.
One of the most powerful things I have learned through my own healing is how to let my voice out of my own mouth more powerfully. I am still learning.
I wrote my first book when I was thirty-six, in the midst of raising three kids. I believe now that writing has been one of the best methods for discovering my public voice. When I could write and re-write, edit, trash journal, and delete, I could really hone my ability to communicate with words, all within the privacy of my own world (until the very end when I clicked "publish"). I think I did this because my voice needed to come out.
But letting my voice out of my mouth, especially before I've had time to analyze my thoughts to death and rehearse, is much more risky and vulnerable. It's also necessary for a healthy, functional relationship. While I'm not a proponent for speaking before one thinks at all, the less filtered version of what we're thinking and feeling has got to be the place we start.
We can't wait till we have the exact right words, because that time may never come. "Perfect words" are not actually perfect; they can still hurt. We'll have to learn how to repair. Having to have perfect words makes us think we are responsible for the reactions of others; we are not.
What are you thinking? What are you feeling?
A wise friend of mine recently said (as my consciousness had drifted away from our conversation), "Stop it. Don't do that. I'm right here." I started to cry. His kind attunement and gentle invitation to share was exactly what I needed to remember that I was in safe company and that my voice was wanted there. So now I'm extending that grace to you.
Speak up. Let us hear your voice. How you feel matters. Your perspective is important. Please share it.
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