When I was six years old, I went mute for a year.
Speech therapy, voice exercises, you name it — suddenly, I couldn’t articulate myself anymore. (Is this how Ariel felt?)
When I *did* start to speak again… You could barely hear me.
My extra-social parents would be surprised to find me in my room (too busy with my nose in a copy of Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire for the eighteenth time, probably), because I I had learned to operate in comfortable, undetectable silence (somehow, those two extroverts created the ultimate introvert — go figure).
In high school, my best friend would beg me to speak up when I knew all the answers to all the questions in class (I mumbled them to myself instead).
Strangers used to say “can you repeat that again?” because I was essentially whispering a name most people don’t get right on the first try anyhow. (It’s Za-fee-rah in case you’re wondering!)
To be honest, it’s taken me years to own my voice with purpose and power.
But wanna know what happened instead of trying to be the loudest person in the room?
I became a thoughtful, intuitive listener. Soaking up everything I could about how humans talk, love, argue, debate and connect.
And I expressed myself through telling those stories on paper — because it was the easiest way I could.