In Search of My Voice

One of my most challenging hurdles to overcome has been clearly and calmly stating my intentions and desires.  It’s the most difficult with my husband, a kind, gentle, loving man who adores me.  But, a man just the same.  Going ‘against’ him ( the way my brain chooses to describe it, not my heart) continues to scare me even after 32 years of marriage.  

I’m not in fear of bodily harm or emotional abuse.  What I fear is rejection.

Without going all Freudian on myself, I recognize that this is a learned response from dealing with my father for all of my formative years.  My dad was a force to be reckoned with and, at 87, still is.  Kind, loving and generous to a fault, he adored me.  And, I basked in the glory of that love.  He was also volatile and unpredictable in his moods, and that frightened and confused me.

As his daughter, life was a land mine to navigate,  safe and secure one minute, perilous the next.

For a sensitive, approval seeking little girl this environment and relationship sealed my fate.  Survival required a dance of avoidance or, what my husband refers to from his football days as ‘the bob and weave’.  Sidestep this comment, duck that situation.  Oops, stepped on a bomb, now there’s hell to pay.

Rather quickly I learned that when Dad stated an opinion I should agree, or remain mute.  By following this rule, peace would reign and I would continue on as a ‘good’ daughter.  My Dad would still love me.  I was still accepted.   If I kept my opinions to myself I wouldn’t be challenged.  I wouldn’t be chastised.  I wouldn’t have to defend my position, a futile proposition, and one that never went well.  

In reality, there was no correct choice, no easy path to follow.  All interactions lead straight to the unknown, where any outcome was possible, and tears and shouting could be counted on 80% of the time.

Survival required that I give up my voice.  So, I did.

But, my husband is not my father.   And, I am not 5.  My husband values my opinion, and asks for it frequently.  I share it once in awhile, and always with butterflies in my stomach.

I must choose now to be brave, to use my voice and speak my desires.  It’s time for me to send that little girl back to the past, where she belongs.  She has served her purpose.  She has taught me well.  She had no voice.  She was stifled, stunted and unhappy.

I am courageous, bold, honored and empowered.  I have found my voice. I will speak my desires, and I will be heard.