From Silence to Self - Revised

As a child, I was extremely shy. I was so shy my family always introduced me with the challenge, “This is Piper. She’s shy. You can’t make her talk.” To which almost everyone responded 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.
Throughout my life, I have written 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. These venues gave me opportunities to be heard without speaking. I preferred the resume to the interview, the written exam to the oral, the autobiographical sketch to the speech. That clichéd assignment to “write an essay on what you 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. I do not recommend inviting me to a funeral if you want comfort or to your hospital bed if you need encouragement. Don’t believe me? “Uncle Joe would have loved this funeral,” inspired my widowed aunt to more tears. And, “at least you get three squares and a good night’s sleep in here,” caused my husband to request more sedation. So for me finding the right words means write the right words!
How then did I end up being a teacher? Why would I choose a career that put me in front of others and interacting verbally all day long? I don’t know exactly. I suppose I simply let my shyness define and drive me until I finally encountered my passion for teaching. Teaching inspired me to be a little better and try a little harder than I ever thought I could. My desire to light students’ fire for learning through 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 allow me to 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 that is totally me and totally beyond me at the same time. I am vulnerable yet fearless, confident yet humbled. It is exhilarating…until I remember I am writing for others, not just for 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. Your essay was hilarious and then you dropped the humor and began explaining the situation rather than reliving 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, I don’t. I require an assignment to put fingers to keyboard. 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 I 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.
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.