Silence is not always golden
I sometime struggle to use my voice. Ironically, I taught group exercise classes for 8 years – standing on a stage in front of 30+ people at least twice a week, teaching a martial arts based class (the shoutiest of all the group exercise classes!) I had a head mic too. My voice was LOUD, I shouted as I punched and kicked and it felt good. So. Good.
Ask me to facilitate a workshop or to deliver a presentation in my day job – no problem. Sure I’ll get nervous but I’ll do an ok, sometimes great job depending on the topic.
Yet when it comes to asking for something or speaking out in a relationship (platonic or otherwise), my throat closes up. I clam up. I can’t easily bring myself to say the words I want to.
At the core of the silence is a fear that if I ask for what I want or need, that the other person will say “No”, promptly leave me and that no-one else will ever love me or want to be my friend.
Looking back there were so many occasions where I learnt that being quiet and not speaking out was preferable to using my voice; Being yelled at when I said I didn’t want to carry a birthday cake to someone at a family gathering and having to do it anyway; Having to ‘grin & bear it’ when I felt so low before going to school each day; Being bullied at school but fearing that if I spoke out it would get worse; Having a boy tell me “You’re nice but you talk far too much”; Telling a boyfriend that I’d been assaulted, him not believing me & breaking up with me the next day.
They were mostly small things (well, apart from that last one) but, over time, they slowly and surely taught me that keeping quiet kept me safe. All of these are like small bands around my throat, slowly constricting and silencing me. I’ve been scared to speak out for fear of not being listened to, being ridiculed, being ignored, being abandoned, being cast out or being punished. Scared to speak out for fear of not being loved. These experiences taught that my feelings don’t matter – don’t speak about them just put a smile on the outside and pretend everything is fine, even when, especially when, it’s not. Add onto that the British culture I was raised in, the one of “Not making a fuss” and “Just getting on with things” – You know, the “I’ve had a spot of bother on the way in to the office, I might be a bit late” which secret British code for “I was in a car accident and I’m in an ambulance on the way to the hospital” and Ta Da! You have it:
“Don’t speak out, pretend everything is ok and everything wil lbe fine.” Only… it won’t.
Practice. In a recent relationship I felt safe enough to take a chance, to be brave and use my voice. The bravery paid off. I was heard, my voice, words and wishes were respected and the other person stuck around. Taking small opportunities to practice asking for what I need, like calling up and requesting an erroneous charge be refunded on my travel card or by sharing something that is important to me with people I trust. Another form of practice I’m using is writing – writing this for example, allows me to tell part of my story in a different way. And… singing! Mostly in the kitchen although the other day I sang as I walked back from a run. Other people heard me. I pretended not to care. I’m slowly working on making that less of a pretense.
Loving and re-training my brain. A bit like playing “whack-a-mole”, when I notice this old habit cropping up I whack it! Ok, so clearly I’m using “whack” to mean gently draw out, send that past version of me some love and let my brain know that we don’t need to keep this old pattern or belief anymore, and to have some compassion for myself.
Breathwork. Working through the old stories that come up when I do my Breathwork practice, working on letting them go and moving through the underlying fears bit by bit.
Just as the lessons about staying quiet were learnt and reinforced slowly over time, so they can be unlearnt and replaced with new beliefs.
Looking for small opportunities to speak up, to be heard, helps reinforce the new patterns and helps me learn to find my voice again.
