By Icy Frantz
I have never understood the phrase: find your voice. While I believe in the importance of having a voice and exercising it, the word find implies that something is lost, and, in my experience, voice is never lost; it just may be in need of a little coaxing, definition, conviction, and practice. Unlike a lost iPhone, there is no app: Find My Voice. And, contrary to the studies that show that most people spend ten minutes a day looking for lost car keys, most people don’t spend that time looking for a lost voice.
A newborn knows exactly where his or her voice is and how to use it. With a little whimper or a sharp cry, a baby communicates it’s need for food, sleep, a diaper change or snuggle, and just like that the baby has used voice to make his or her world a better place. A baby’s shrill cry as a form of voice and communication will only work for a short time, thankfully, and eventually that cry is exchanged for language.
When our daughter was in the third grade, she was struggling with a few girls in her class. At the time, our daughter was quiet and shy. Some of the others girls were more confident and self-assured. We enlisted the help of the school counselor who said that our little 8-year-old needed to “find her voice.” She had absolutely no idea what that meant but we tried to help her navigate and use the appropriate and warranted language. We were grateful when the third grade came to a close, some years are just like that, and it wasn’t until a few years later she had an aha moment. “I get it.” And she did. She learned how to stick up for herself and speak up in class and navigate the sometimes-tricky social waters. She learned how to comfort a friend, and she used her voice to articulate her needs and wants. Her thinking had become more abstract and she was able to push through the internal and external pressures that were holding her voice hostage. I know there will be times in the future when the expressive cry of a baby might feel the most industrious, and frankly just easier, but I hope life experiences will continue to show our daughter her voice.
In early June, I went back to my high school, a beautiful New England boarding school in New Hampshire, to attend my 35th reunion. I had thought about not going. It was a busy weekend in our home and none of my close high school friends would be there. I could have easily blown it off, but instead I hopped in my car early Saturday morning and drove the four hours, arriving in time to wander the campus before the alumnae parade. I was nervous and flooded with high school memories, some good and some not. In high school, my voice was buried deep within me, or at least that’s my recollection, and I wore self-doubt like a badge of honor. I was shy and self-conscious, and often didn’t know what to say to people.
My senior year, I uncharacteristically took a chance and ran for student government. The candidates were tasked with writing a letter, which I did, signing off “xoxo Icy.” I thought nothing of it until classmates started teasing me, calling me “xoxo Icy.” None of the other candidates had ended their statements in that fashion or anything close to it. Such a silly thing, but I was mortified. How could I have veered away from the norm? I lost, not because of “xoxo Icy.” That was my voice and I had yet to become comfortable with it.
Back at the reunion, I questioned whether I had surpassed this stage or would the familiar surroundings and smells from my four years on campus drag me back to my teenage self? They didn’t, and it was fun and I loved every single minute. We had all grown up adding 35 years to our life stories, and we shared them with one another. In the days that followed, we started an email chain that included all of the members of our class. It was a bit of a love fest, for our school and for each other, and I added my own email to it and signed it “xoxo Icy” and smiled.
I used to think that we needed to earn a voice and that somehow only living through loss or adversity or traveling around the world would give us the right to speak. Or A PHD; a master’s degree; a published book or an athletic accomplishment would give our voice authority and it does, but it does not discredit the rest of us. These experiences provide us with the confidence and motivation to speak up and speak out and they define our voice and provide inspiration, but sometimes it’s the smallest of children who has the biggest and wisest voice of all. It is through their innocence and inexperience that children are able to share a very raw and unfiltered authentic voice, and this voice can be the most powerful of all.
“Can you hear me now?” reposition “Can you hear me now?” Verizon made these lines famous in their 2001 commercial and they still ring true not just for cellular connectivity but for human to human connectivity. Our voice has the ability to connect us to others in wonderful ways and it’s through a genuine and honest voice that I find the greatest potential. These days there is no greater compliment than when I hear from a friend who has just read my latest article:
“it feels like I just spent the afternoon with you.” Because that is what I strive for, one authentic voice and yet, this can be hard; hard to really put ourselves out there, easier to stay hidden like our keys and our iphone. We need to strip away the layers of protection that we have accumulated while simultaneously building up our confidence. Some won’t like our voice; others will, Find the others. Don’t reposition.
There are moments in life that literally take our breath away. Excuse the cliché but it’s true and these moments, both happy and sorrowful, are poignant. I attended a beautiful wedding a few weekends ago and was struck by the power of voice and two simple words “I do” and how these two words courageously uttered in front of a congregation at one moment in time, have the ability to describe profound feelings of love and unity and the ability to transport us into eternity. And there are other words when voiced that carry the same kind of weight, and yet, they are often hard to say. I’m Sorry. I made a mistake. I love you. And sometimes our voice is most impactful in the moments when it comes out loud and clear through our actions. But it’s the moments at the end of life when the voice is quiet and labored that stand out to me. I have been honored to sit at the bed side and listen to the fading sound of a loved one, straining to hear the content, praying for just little bit more and understanding in that moment what a privilege it is to have a voice.
I like to sing in the shower, alone, when no one is home. Our children would cringe if they heard me. I have a terrible singing voice, but there is no greater pleasure than belting out the words to a song, wishing desperately to sound like Katy Perry who so powerfully chants, “You’re going to hear me roar,” because I do have a voice, spoken not sung, and I am growing more comfortable with it, taking it out beyond the shower stall. Our voice is our responsibility, to be used wisely for ourselves and for others, especially for those who may find it difficult to express their own voice. It starts off as a cry and ends in a weak whisper but somewhere in between it grows. And it’s a privilege. It’s our message to the world and the world is waiting to hear it.
Xoxo Icy
