My Voice

Finding my voice wasn’t me screaming from the womb. It wasn’t my first words, nor was it me trying to sing. That was just me making noises. Mimicking things I heard people say. Performing like a bird for peanuts. Until recently I never used my real voice. I never found my voice until I learned to say enough.I used to play the part of what I perceived others expected me to be, instead of really speaking from my soul. Sure I would say things, but only words that didn’t mean anything. My Voice is more than the sounds that t escape my food hole. My Voice comes with action. My Voice comes with thought. My Voice is the way I listen to everything around me and respond in kind. Words are empty gestures. I can say as many words as I want here, but in the end it does nothing to speak of my true self. It’s not my song.  It’s not my story. My story is written by the actions or inactions I make. It’s the thought behind a thing I bring to something or someone else. 

I am no scholar. I have no degrees. What are they but scratches on paper. They are not the wisdom and knowledge I accumulate. I have no need for a degree. Instead I read words of others and wonder what were they like? What was their voice? Did they do good deeds? Did they stand for those who could not? Did they hold back the door for somebody to pass? I learn by observation, doing things by trial and error. I watch everything from how the grass moves in the wind, to how an ant will carry food, and how the smell of the air changes with temperatures. How many people truly look and watch for how things move and flow? Can you see the pattern of a a leaf falling from a tree in autumn? Can you look at that leaf and see how it will affect that spot a year from now? It sounds absurd but it’s something you can do, and I do all the time. 

If I told you that each action you make can predict your future, would you believe me? Why not? Sherlock Holmes was a fictitious character, but the art of deduction is a real thing. You can tell a lot about the something just by observation. Yes there are factors to consider, but there are only a finite amount of factors for each outcome. So what is it that makes me look back now and wonder how it took me so long to find my voice? How is it that I couldn’t find a way to say I am worthy of a voice? Why could I not speak true and without fear?  I was learning still. I had to see how people would react to others speaking up. How did the actions of others affect those people? Was I being a coward, or just indifferent? 

Today my voice is strong. I speak when I need to, and speak with intent, and commitment. Sure sometimes I just make noise, but I’m just an animal in the landscape. Sometimes we just make noise. I try to make less noise, but too often I feel the need to yell and howl deep from my belly. I sometimes say a word that has no meaning, but I say it hard and sharp, like I’m cutting down a mountain. It’s the energy behind the words sometimes that makes the difference. I’m often told by my kids, that they can’t tell if I’m angry or not? They say I talk loud and everything sounds the same. I have tried for a long time to learn how to talk with more emotional control. It’s difficult for people like me who are on the spectrum of autism. Some don’t know because I have learned to appear as “normal” as possible so I could be treated like any other person. I may see things differently, but I am just like everyone else. It was never treated because nobody was paying attention. I put that on myself though, because part of my b e st skill is mimicry. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… you get the point. 

I credit my kids for helping me find my voice. In watching them grow up, I w a etched them go through a lot and watched them try to find their voice. In being a parent, you often think it’s your job to teach them. In this case they taught me. I learned I need to be more honest. I learned that for me to truly communicate, I need to speak with intent and commitment. I needed to feel like I was being true to myself first, so I can be honest with everybody else. 

Published by Snowy Owl

There was a lot more written here before. Then I saw it was irrelevant. I am just another person with an autoimmune disease and spectrum ”disorder” who is highly sensitive to their environment. I thought I would write a few things down, so here you go. Swim at your own risk!

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