Laying down my sword and shield

I had a break in my silence the other day. I began my day with speaking to my speech therapist, which seemed appropriate, although I could have requested she teach me non verbal exercises during the session. It’s become apparent to me that speech therapy is very closely related to emotional and mental support therapy. So, I shared. I expressed. I cried. Things that haven’t been expressed became expressed. Many beautiful synchronicities were noticed.

I felt so light.

So, I continued to talk this week. Until my voice was worn out again. And, I didn’t really talk all that much.

So, I’m in silence again. This time, it feels more forced than peaceful as what’s bubbling under the surface emerges the deeper we go.

I want to express. I want to say something. I have things to say! I need to say them, damnit!

Like, I really want to tell the guy in my AirBnB that just arrived how rude it is to put your coat on the counter. I didn’t. I simply moved the coat to the couch. And good thing! It’s still there after over a day. Some people!

I want to speak out loud with my friends. And, I did. For a bit. I went out with a friend and we talked. I spoke on the phone with another friend and my mother.

These conversations started with awareness and presence. I found myself listening more than I would normally, but I still contributed to the conversations in at least equal measure, realizing that I can often vocally dominate a conversation.

And I’m starting to understand why.

I’ve been using my voice to hide. Not only to hide, but to protect myself. I’ve built up walls of sound to keep out anything that might hurt me. This sound has become a shield and sometimes sword that I use to stop from being vulnerable, being truly seen. I fill the space so full of words that it becomes difficult for those listening to experience the essential expression of Kendra. Instead of letting them see the real me, I shine this brilliant shield in front of them with a gallant story on it. If the shield is questioned, I wave the sword of more poignant tales in front of them, hiding myself.

I still don’t know what I’m hiding.

I have an event coming up just before I leave New York. It’s called Expressions. I will not be expressing at this event, I will be guiding other women in their expressions, but if I were to express in this sacred ceremony, this is what I would do.

I would be silent.

It’s interesting that in a ceremony centered around expression, and particularly expression with the voice, I would be silent. I would resist the urge, this deep, nagging, protective, defensive urge to create something with my voice.

Not only would I be silent, but I would listen. I feel that listening is an expression that I have not exercised because the deep listening means that people can SEE more of me. Without the words, they can know me better. They can feel my energy. They can perceive my heart. And, the truth is that women are incredibly intuitive, incredibly perceptive. They see so much.

I know this because I am one and I do see so much.

In fact, I’m so committed to this idea that, knowing there are activities before the ceremony, I would be silent through it all. Sitting in the discomfort of not making the same freeing vocalizations these other women are enjoying, I would become an observer.

I would prepare a written invitation for the women in the ceremony. I would invite them to express to me what they perceive in this voiceless woman, everything they perceive. If they feel I am selfish, to voice that. If they feel I am withering, to voice that. If they feel I am ostentatious, to voice that. If they feel I am likable or unlikable, to voice that. Whatever they see. All guards are down.

With less than a week to the ceremony, I still feel to “express” my silence. To be a listener as much as I can and to allow myself to be vulnerably perceived. My expression will happen before the event, but it is none-the-less, a powerful expression.

Today, I went to buy flowers and I experimented. I spoke a few words to some and nothing to others. I felt more seen, and more loved as I was silent. This is what I perceived, but I had been so worried that if I don’t give people a reason to like me, some story that says how wonderful I am, they might not. Ultimately, people are good, and my silence will help me to learn this on a deeper level, to feel safe being seen, without the frills of my voice, unprotected and naked.

I’m laying down my sword and shield. I’m letting my soft-tender heart be seen.