Something interesting happened as I let myself take my voice for a spin, as I started to share my pain that I had experienced, something wild happened. I started to gently, tenderly, release myself from the fears I carried in regards to masculinity and men. Voice is vital.
I noticed as I spoke as I let myself explore my voice even though it didn’t meet what I thought was perfect, when I was met with the voice of men which had once intimidated me, which I had associated with deep pain and wounds and violations on my body, I heard something I did not expect, pain.
I saw in the eyes of men the same fear I had. I saw the scars on their bodies from women who had cut them, in a society where that was seen as funny. I saw the trauma reactions as their tears fell on my shoulders from pain of the abuse they endured that was not legally considered worthy of respite or safety. I saw men sitting right in the soil with me, right in the mud crying out in agony. I saw him eye to eye. A pain I had thought I had seen before but had no idea how deep it ran until I started to explore my voice and hear the voice of men right by my side.
I had placed men on a broken pedestal from my pain. They were bigger than life, gods that had all of the power in my perception. Because when I was victimized that was what I felt. I felt powerless. As I gave myself permission for my voice I gave myself permission to recognize the voice of men. To listen and ask questions to men. I saw my fellow human being not on the broken pedestal but feet to feet with me. Nose to nose. Our tears filling the same stream. I was so shocked.
All I thought I knew, had been ripped from under me. I hadn’t realized just how much men suffered by my side. Facing rape, abuse, silently like I had for so long. I didn’t realize just how scared they were to try their voice out just like me. Afraid to be met with hell just like my fears. I didn’t realize I had dehumanized men-speaking for myself- and in this saw them as not having pain in ways I’ve known. I had to be gentle, super super super gentle with myself as I faced my fears. As I faced myself.
What I found was this massive weight lifted, major fear moved in a way that felt like actually physically lifting off of me when as I spoke, I listened. In ways I didn’t know was possible. My fear of masculine and association of masculine with harm started to fade. My body no longer reacted the same fear way around men. My body started to relax as I was opening to really feel that I was not alone that men, my brothers, were right there with me in reaching for their voices to be heard in asking for their hearts to be seen. I cannot tell you the relief I felt. The freedom.
It started with me taking my very unperfect human voice and trying. No human is perfect I had to finally concede to this fact and not wait to be perfect to speak.
It is a mighty, powerful and confronting journey- The journey of voice. I know the journey of my voice I thought was just the journey of my voice. I found it was the journey of finding my voice and I was introduced to the vulnerable voice of men. I found my fellow human beings who I had hidden in plane sight without even knowing it. Pain, fear, anger, joy, all there being experienced with my brothers. Men right here in life with me. Our voices resounding together.
It sounds counterintuitive and in the journey of finding voice and being heard, which I did and I was, I found a new listening of myself, of men and of life. I had no idea how deeply connected finding my voice was to healing my relationship with masculinity, maleness and men. Whereas before I used to feel anxious around men, I found myself looking at the men on the train and my whole body relaxing and feeling safe because men were there.
I had been saying I loved men, and I did, yet I had no idea that to live it takes such a deep listening that confronted everything I thought I knew.