From Silence to Self (Finding my Voice through Writing)

As a child, I was extremely shy. I was so shy my family always introduced me with the caveat, “This is Piper. She’s shy. You won’t get her to say a thing.” To which almost everyone responded to by trying to get me to speak. Grrrr… In some ways being shy determined my destiny because in order to express myself, I had to write. I have had to accept that I could not then, cannot now, and may never be able to communicate as effectively through the spoken language as I do through writing. I don’t recall when I began to enjoy writing. Nor do I remember a time when writing was not my favorite means of expression – my only means even. Writing allows me to be brave, emotional, melodramatic, or eloquent. It allows me to be me.
During rough times in my younger days, rather than just say what I wanted, I would write letters to express myself to family and friends. I wrote to my parents when I needed to change my major and go to college an extra semester, to my best friend when she hurt my feelings by telling me about my engagement before the big day, and to my husband when things fell apart (enough said). I spent a great deal of time writing to and about myself, always hopeful that through my writing I would find the real me, the one behind the shy girl, who was petrified of being revealed and then rejected.
I avoided situations that required too much talking and exposure. In high school I chose to study Latin because I would not have to speak it. Being in the debate club did not interest me; being on the newspaper staff and yearbook staff saved me. I preferred (and still do) the autobiographical sketch to the interview, the written exam to the oral. Give me a written book report any day over having to explain a mobile or diorama. To write an essay on what I did during summer vacation was heaven; show and tell – hell!
I am abysmally inept at oral expression. If I try to speak when I am angry, I cry. When I am nervous, I laugh (too loudly) or I use my hands (which I see as my body’s way of telling me I should be writing instead!). I always say the wrong thing. You should not invite me to a funeral if you want comfort or to your hospital bed if you need encouragement. I will clumsily move you to more tears or more sedation!
So how did I end up being a teacher? What career puts a person in front of others and interacting verbally more than teaching? While some urges that drive us are strong, others urges stir us and become a passion. My desire to light the students’ fire for learning through the study of literature and writing was consuming. I have always felt that literature could teach us everything we needed to know about life. Through teaching I began to develop, what I referred to as, “me, the teacher.” This “teacher me” was determined to share my love of literature and writing. I learned that I might have to step out of my comfort zone to be effective with high school students who, it turned out, did not have the same love of literature and writing that I did. Somehow I moved beyond my shyness and fear and put my love of teaching and children first. As I look back it seems that it was effortless, but I know it took all the energy I had. Students accept me for who I am. I believe they see my sincerity and my passion. I know they overlook my foibles and shortcomings. They make me forget my shyness.
Writing serves me in the same way. When I am writing, I become more than myself and simply myself in the same moment. I love this thrill of getting into a voice or a theme that is totally me and totally beyond me at the same time. It is exhilarating…until I remember that I am writing for an audience, not just myself. My shyness re-emerges, and I am left unsure and doubtful…frozen by my fear of failure and rejection. Once in an undergrad writing class, I was so overwhelmed by this feeling that I immediately started rewriting parts of the essay. When my professor conferenced with me about the essay, she opened with, “What happened?” I was mortified. How could I explain that I lost my voice because I wasn’t certain that I could pull off being as witty and self-deprecating as I had attempted. Then she said, “It was as if you lost your voice. You were going along so well. It was hilarious and then you dropped the humor and started trying to explain the situation rather than relive it.” I was completely caught off guard that she saw right through me and so thankful that she had. She encouraged me to go back and rewrite, using my original thoughts and voice. She helped me learn to write honestly and for myself rather than to impress my audience or to be right.
I wish I had the motivation to write for the sake of writing. Unfortunately, for some reason I must have a writing assignment or clear purpose to write before I will put any significant effort into it. Thankfully, this doctoral program has provided me with more writing assignments, I mean opportunities, than I ever imagined! I say “thankfully” because each time I write learn something new about myself. Each time I put myself out there I gain confidence. Each time I risk rejection by letting someone read my work, I grow from the risk as well as the feedback and reflection.
I find everything I need in the written word – hope and inspiration, comfort and courage, strength and guidance. Whether it is through my writing or the reading of others writings, it is how I communicate with the world and myself. Writing is my voice.