Buried under shouts of “Should.”, “Could.”, and “Would.” is a singular voice that is mine. It has always been there; a singular good pure sound. I didn’t invent my voice; I was created with it. Everyone is. Created in secret, it remains unused while each of us is wrapped in the placenta. Then, after traveling the short distance between hiddenness and exposure we use it boldly, nakedly.
I have been searching for my voice this past year as I exit the cave of journals and make marks on the online world. Fear and shame mock my nakedness. Cecil Murphey, in Release the Writer in You, confesses his struggle with the fear of exposure. In three short powerful chapters of the book he lets me know that the fear is natural.
When do we realize we are naked and we are ashamed?
Is it the first time we are tersely told, “Be quiet?”
Is it someone’s mockery when what we say comes nakedly from our hiddenness? It’s tone rings of innocence. It vibrates with wonder.
Is it when we give raw love and for the first time it is not enough? Brushed aside it falls to the floor and shatters.
Perhaps it is why we cry at birth instead of laugh.
Slivers of shame seep into our depths. Bits of childhood and adolescent shame press the voice so deep it is part of a fairy tale we silently dream is true. The singular good pure sound is invisible beneath the layers of “Should.”, “Could.”, and “Would.” We mine those voices shaping and tweaking their value into a personal and acceptable one. It is the cry of the Wannabee, not the singular solidly clear sound created in us.
This past year I’ve listened to the voices of Jeff Goins, Michael Hyatt, Handmadeology, Tara Gentile, Tara Robinson, Etsy Success and more . They are all full of encouragement and tips. Each say the same thing in their own way.
Go for it! Dive in! Dynamite through the fear, shame, and doubt.
I’ve tried. They are Goliath and I am the paralyzed army of Israel.
When there is doubt, there is no will to dig. I remain in layers of “Should.”, “Could.”, and “Would ” hammering away at the impenetrable fear and shame. It is time to end my online search for clues to my voice. Time to trust the singular good pure gift crafted in the secrecy of the placenta. Time to rest in the hidden design of my Creator, the Giver of my voice.