I need a new voice.
It’s not the voice of a guy in a dress. I did that from, oh, like 1985 to 1995.
It’s not the gender neutral voice of a transperson. I did that from 1995 to like 2005.
No, I need the voice of a woman.
Let me be more explicit.
I don’t need the voice of a woman.
I have the voice of a woman.
I just need to let it out.
To be a woman is to make the choices of a woman.
For too long I was told that voice had to be buried, killed. That voice was aberrant, perverted. That voice was shameful, sick.
A voice crippled is a voice broken.
And a voice broken is a voice lost, a heart silenced.
I need to use a new voice.
And the idea of trying to switch between voices just seems like so much pain.
In the same way I need to be able to choose to have a nice manicure without being ready to scrub it off in any moment, I need to have a voice where I stay woman-chosen, trusting the energy, without always being ready to pull it back.
Committing to a woman voice is the gateway to committing to my own nature, committing to my own power.
I listen to a lot of women singing jazz standards. Many actresses decide to make a CD, and I think that is because their voice is a key tool for them, something they hone and polish and value. They need to find a voice that is powerful and connected, warm and wise, resonant and reflective, melodious and memorable.
They find their voice. They claim it. They use it. They wear it in. They let their voice become them, and they become their voice.
And I need to do the same thing.
To be present without a voice is not to be present.
I don’t know how to go from a strangled voice to a melifluous one and back again in a very short time. A day won’t cut it for what I need. I need a life.
I don’t think people who don’t hear my inner voice can possibly understand this. Most of them are people who don’t own their own voices, so they can’t imagine that they have something to unlock.
I attended a session on coaching and quickly figured out the trick to being a good coach: you help people hear their own voice. The woman running the session thought about that for a moment, then nodded wisely — yes, I got it.
The voice I need to hear is mine.
The voice I need to trust is mine.
The voice I need to sing out in is mine.
I need a new voice.