When I lost my voice I lost a lot more than just speech. But I also had some transforming experiences along the way. Maybe you have already experienced this wild ride and know how it changes your day to day life.
If you haven’t lost your voice before, I hope this reflection is one you don’t have to go through yourself. But to give you a glimpse, here’s the great and not so great things I lived through and learned when I lost my voice.
A Quick Background Story
Now this was my very first time losing my voice and I do feel lucky that I made it this far along in life without it happening sooner. After a stressful yet also fun road trip I managed to contract viral pharyngitis.
Talk about painful, this is no joke. And as I write this, though feeling much better, I have lost my voice for six days now. 0/10 – absolutely do not recommend. Outside of the agony of illness, I was shocked by the impact of losing my voice had in my life.
As a professional yapper, this was devastating. Perhaps for more introverted people this wouldn’t be as jarring but I have struggled so hard. Luckily, I learned a few valuable things and am grateful in a weird way for this adventure.
Great Things That Happened When I Lost My Voice
As someone who is a talker, I think the universe decided I needed to be put in a quiet place for a bit. I was checked out of the conversations unwillingly yet had an opportunity to recognize ways silence can be a good thing.
1) Time to Reflect
Oh my goodness, I already do a lot of internal dialogue but this was a whole new level. Most of my insight came to how I interacted with my family. I noticed how if my voice was there it would change the dynamic of the conversation.
Whether that would be a good or bad change I honestly wasn’t sure. But, these instances showed me how each interaction can be a chance to contribute or take away from a shared moment in time.
2) Opportunity to Observe
When you spend a lot of time talking you don’t spend a lot of time listening. Yes, a balance would be great and hopefully I’ve been learning to do that better. But, without my voice, I had a chance to listen and watch in ways I hadn’t before.
Without giving my input during conversations I got to watch how others around me interact. In some instances it was strange because with some people the flow seemed to stay steady. With others, I could see how they would anticipate where I would usually give input and the conversation would lag.
This ebb and flow of these conversations around me was truly surprising to me. I feel that I got a secret look into the way people accommodate space for me, or not, within their interactions.
3) Slow Down
Any fellow yapper would understand that slowing down does not come naturally. The better balanced of us can do this with some effort but keeping a pace of life with others is a conscious choice of inclusion.
To include those around us is such an important part of our social construct. When I lost my voice it became an impromptu way to slow down. I didn’t get to keep my usual speed because I couldn’t communicate as quickly.
This act of slowing down showed me how my mental pace does not easily fit into the lives of those close to me. I hope seeing this will keep me better in tune with how to consider and honor the pace of others in our moments together.
4) Give Space for Others
In a similar perspective, I realized what giving space to others can look like. Without my voice running a conversation there was space for others to fill it with their thoughts.
This hit me most while I was driving my step-daughter around. Yes, we’ve had comfortable moments of silence together. But, this time, instead of me initiating most of our conversation topics she was sharing more with me about her day. I didn’t even have to ask.
I think back and wonder how many times I have shut down someone by filling space with my voice. It makes me sad to think about it but this has made me want to leave “spaces” empty. Even after my voice comes back, I hope by keeping silent more often others will feel inclined to fill the space with what’s important to them.
5) More Thoughtful Communication
Holy moly, I thought I was going to be OK but I am not as good of a communicator as I thought. Yes I could kind of whisper here and there but it always made my voice and pain worse. So I tried everything else from weird hand signing to texting to note.
Yet, in trying to minimize confusion I sometimes magnified it. Keeping words minimal in whispers or short quick texts in an effort to “talk” fast enough often left gaps in what I was actually wanting to say. And the way people badly interpreted the “hand signs” I thought were obvious was almost laughable.
It was so hard not to be able to clarify for others so I had to make sure I carefully thought out what I wanted to convey. This also had me considering what was worth saying and what wasn’t. I found more often than not the effort to communicate was not worth it. And so I began to value and prioritize my thoughts more before sharing them.
6) People’s Responses When I Lost My Voice
When people, even strangers, found out that I lost my voice, it boosted my hope for humanity. Nearly everyone was so empathetic and accommodating toward me.
Even in instances where my lack of speech makes an interaction difficult, people are so patient. To see this natural reaction of others to sympathize and encourage me is amazing. It was a reminder of how I want to be toward those around me when they’re having a hard time.
The Not So Great Parts
I would say overall I have been in a state of depression without my voice. Despite the quiet time for myself to learn, I feel the bad definitely outweighs the good. I hope that for a person who endures this they can feel the hurt but come back into their voice with a new found appreciation for it. I’m certainly trying.
1) Missing Connections When I Lost My Voice
This is probably the most agonizing part of the whole thing. I am someone who thrives on connection and didn’t realize just how much I rely on my voice for that.
It surprised me most when I couldn’t share my day with the people I care about. The little moments of joy, especially with my son, that I love telling others about was lost. I couldn’t just call up my husband and tell him something that made me smile or laugh.
Even in person conversations with people is difficult because among the busy hustle I can’t keep up. The response I want to give drops out because my husband is already in the other room. Having to give up a lot of input in my world has left me feeling so hollow inside.
2) The Inconvenience
While connections are difficult and sorely missed there have also been times of sheer inconvenience since losing my voice. Going through a drive through to order a meal or pick up a prescription? Yeah, right.
I have to walk into places and pre-type a message on my phone to communicate what I need. Then the whole responding or clarifying part if the person needed more information from me.
Then making a phone call was literally impossible. Need to reschedule an appointment? Eh, you’ll have to go into the office. Need to call and pay a bill? Too bad. Need to follow-up with someone? Sucks to be you. It does suck, but fortunately those things can wait until my voice is back.
3) Miscommunications
I touched on this briefly but wow, the number of alternate ways to communicate that fail me is so frustrating. I’ll show someone something on my phone and somehow what I wrote and what they read did not align.
Certain motions or expressions I make aren’t understood in the way I thought I was showing them. Then trying to clarify can even make it worse. Sometimes I just give up trying to correct people.
4) The Frustration
Outside the inconveniences are the frustrations that wore me out when I lost my voice. Oh so you want to have a particular conversation with someone that is intimate or detailed? Not likely going to happen, at least not without a ton of effort.
The frustration of not being able to keep up in conversations or communicate smoothly means I just stop. I try sparing myself and others from a tedious conversation simply by not having them.
5) The Mental Load of Adapting
I have found I am constantly trying to fit into a world that is not made for the voiceless. I do know some very minimal sign language. But, I became blatantly aware that it’s useless if others don’t know it too.
Asking for help is hard because I have to effectively communicate what I need in an unfamiliar way. This means basically scripting it out and feeling like a burden because it’s so clunky to do. Then follow up questions or clarification are so tedious too.
Most of the mental load is doing that with every interaction, simplifying what I need to say. This is whether I’m trying a whisper of a few words (which still made the pain worse), or typing out a message.
6) Isolation of Losing My Voice
Walking through the world without my voice has been the most isolating experience ever (outside of motherhood). And the loneliness is amplified by the unchanged lives around you.
It’s sitting outside of conversations. It’s having the urge to connect in talks but being physically unable to. And it’s the empty distance that breaks my heart when all I want to do is be heard.
Final Thoughts on When I Lost My Voice
I hope I never have to go through this again. And for anyone out there who has endured this I hope you were able to find some bright side. For anyone in the deaf community, I’m still clueless to what you might navigate on a daily basis but my respect for you just keeps growing.
These lessons I’ve learned without my voice have truly transformed me. Although miserable, the experience was also insightful. Moving forward I have the chance to value my voice in a different way. And maybe, knowing what I know now means my voice can have a better impact than it did before.
About the Author
Anna is a twenty-something living in the south. She's passionate about family, crafting, and continuing her education beyond her college degree.