Grief

It has been more than a month since my last post. I have been writing, but not here. I have been focused on a writing "project" and that has felt good and productive.
Today, though, I am back.
Perhaps it is the full moon energy - the call to release that brings me back to this page.

The grief I am feeling today - and that I have been feeling in waves for the last year - is the grief of the loss of my physical voice. My voice is not (currently) gone completely. It is gravelly, hesitant, sometimes doubled (like blurred vision for the vocal cords).

I have gone to specialists (all claims denied, BTW - another story) and been 'scoped. No answers. I have been put on medications and I have stopped taking said medications. I've been told it's not a tumor. Not my thyroid. But what is it?

My work is predominantly over the phone. And my voice embarrasses me when I speak. I seemingly have no control over the sounds that will emerge. They can be squeaky, gritty, and almost-fine all in the same sentence. I've tried humming, throat chakra cleansing, drinking tea, spoonfuls of honey, cough drops, clearing my throat, singing lying down. Singing, actually sounds pretty good.  But it's weird to sing your words all the time.

So I have been avoiding talking. I don't speak up during meetings, workshops, or events because I don't like hearing myself. And too much talking hurts my throat. And that is profoundly sad. The voice in my head still sounds like me. My words on the page - still me.

What am I not giving voice to? Am I energetically strangling myself? I have asked myself these questions. What can I do that I'm not doing?

What is the lesson? What does being voiceless teach me about how I show up in my life? If communication is only 5% verbal, how do I tap into that other 95% in ways that make the world a better place. How do I add value without a physical voice?

Over the weekend I went to a workshop with the incredibly talented Maryann Russell. Her reminder for us was to sit in our heart space - in the feels zone. Stop thinking and simply sit with the emotions. Then respond from that seat. So today I let the lump in my throat escape through tears. I cried and cried. I let it happen. I breathed through it. I recognized the struggle in myself and held me in compassion.

There is nothing more to this story for me today other than that I faced it. I faced the sadness and it didn't swallow me up.