Glass Sound Booth

My whole life I've been learning how to be quiet.

When I was little it was about respecting my elders and others. But it was also about not boring people. It was about putting the interests of others over my own. Except I didn't often hear the caveat that my own interests could be equally valid.

As I got older, I learned that being quiet meant that I didn't have to have conflict with certain people who were more powerful or more adept at manipulating a conversation. My silence afforded me peace. Censorship was a happy price I paid so that I didn't have to engage in something that might make me emotional, vulnerable, or powerless.

As I got older I started to understand that my voice was valid, but that I needed to learn just how to word it correctly. I start to work on nuances in language to make my opinion palatable. I became slightly more bold, if not at least more cunning. Sometimes my boldness backfired.

As I got older I learned that my opinions and voice were valid, but that not everyone needed or wanted to hear it. I learned to accept that with grace and gauge if it was important enough to speak up. I learned that many times I didn't think it would matter if I spoke. I learned that I could have my thoughts freely, and that no one could take them away from me. No one could hurt my thoughts if they stayed private.

As I got older I learned that my opinions and words expressed freely could get me or a family member in trouble. That I could be horribly misjudged. That relationships could be shattered over the smallest expressed thought. I learned that in order to manage how people relate to me and my family, it was best to keep things very simple and only be my complete authentic self with people very close to me, who I could trust. I learned that I couldn't trust as many people as I thought.

Today I learned that my whole life I've been learning how to be quiet. This lesson has been disguised in various levels of maturity and diplomacy, but the goal has always been the same: hide and don't be vulnerable.

Today I decided that I'm done being quiet.

When America was on the verge of electing its first female president, mentions of the glass ceiling were peppered in every newscast. Shatter that glass ceiling! It wasn't shattered because white men showed up to stop it.

I confess: I don't want to shatter the glass ceiling. I have no desire to be CEO, President of anything but my own self. No, I don't want to shatter the glass ceiling.

I want to shatter the glass sound booth.

The sound booth that has been around me my whole life, comforting me with its thick, insulating walls. The sound booth that, when women venture out, they are often forced to go running back into its protection. The sound booth that I was allowed into in certain groups online when woman after woman confessed that she had been raped, assaulted, paid less, harassed, belittled, ridiculed. I knew in my brain that the statistics were true, but when I saw story after story after story of untold heartache that the women kept inside their sound-proof booth, I realized just how naive I had been. Millions of women- same story. Same heartache. Same silence. We weren't being diplomatic, we were being silenced.

I am going to use this blog to start speaking. Start hammering into that glass sound booth. Start saying NO or YES with no reservation. I do this for myself. I do this for my four nieces, that they have voices that are heard. I do this for my friends who are victims of sexual abuse. I do this for my friends who (male or female) have their own painful sound booth that they are now terrified to step out of.

I do this because I want to learn, finally, how to speak.