I had this experience last night of sitting on my voice. The words were just under the surface, but felt a bit dangerous, maybe a bit risky, too much (those ever-present and haunting two-words!). I wanted to say something, but didn’t. I woke up this morning aware of the same feeling. The words and my voice had not dissipated overnight. Sleep had not caused my brain to let them go. They still felt “there,” underneath me, somehow – stifled, unspoken, and irritating.
This is not a new experience for me – this knowing-what-I-want-to-say-but-being-afraid-to-say-it sensation. But where I once was not even aware of its presence and impact, I now am. And it makes me mad!
I do not want to sit (on my voice). I want to stand. When I have thoughts, feelings, and emotions I ought to be able to articulate them; to stand-up, as it were, and let them/me be seen and heard. And it’s important for me to recognize that no one else is silencing me (usually). I’m doing that. It’s my internal process, my issue, my choice. I’m the one to stop it. The sitting is and has been binding, stifling, silencing. The standing feels strong, true, and freeing. The danger, risk, and too much, are not necessarily mitigated, but feel like manageable risk.
Just so you know, I did choose to stand up. I said what I needed to say this morning. Not a big deal. Not a lot of words. But no less important. The jury’s still out as to the too much factor and, on some level, it doesn’t matter. Standing feels good. When I sit down, it will only be to rest (or keep typing on my laptop) – not to sit on my voice.
I have often thought the best way to define a [wo]man’s character would be to seek out the particular mental or moral attitude in which, when it comes upon [her], [s]he felt [her]self most deeply and intensely active and alive. At such moments there is a voice inside which speaks and says, “This is the real me!” (William James)
